


Love & Other Sharp Things

by Kallanda_Lee



Category: V for Vendetta (2005), V for Vendetta (Comic)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Betrayal, Burns, Disfigurement, Drama, Dubious Morality, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Masked Men, Masks, November 5th, Plotty, Romance, Scars, Sexual Tension, Vigilantism, Violence, what if
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 52,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kallanda_Lee/pseuds/Kallanda_Lee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One year after V’s death, the future seems far less bright than it did on the eve of November 5th. The country is in chaos, ruled by a Provisional Government that is doing a poor job. Finch is still around and Norsefire is not quite dead. Evey Hammond is a changed person, and it is not all for the better. So, what would V think of her now? And what secret history does V share with Gordon Deitrich?</p>
<p>And yes, I am bringing V back to life – he's just too good a character to be dead and buried (or blown to pieces for that matter)! </p>
<p>Plotty Multi-chaptered Romance/Adventure, focus on V/Evey</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Walking Wounded

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: I'm not a native English speaker. You have hereby been warned. Yes, there is romance – but that's not all there is. Also, V and Gordon have a past in this universe – but that's all for later.
> 
> Disclaimer : All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. Simply said :I do not own the characters from V for Vendetta, I merely drool over them.

Chapter 1 – The Walking Wounded

She held her breath. Her own footsteps sounded unbearably loud to herself, but she knew from experience the four men she was watching had not noticed her. She slid a dagger into each hand. It was not a hard feat anymore. On the contrary, I had become quite a natural reflex. The sensation of the cool metal was soothing to her somehow. And God knows she could use the comfort, knowing what was to come.

She had followed the men for quite a while now – they were Fingermen, she could tell from just looking at them – but she had intended to give them the benefit of the doubt. While the old Government had officially fallen, there had been no permanent replacement. The Provisional Government tried its best, of course, but the country was in turmoil and chaos ruled the land. And so it came to be that Fingermen still walked the streets on occasion, albeit without official capacity.

They had found an easy prey.

The girl was a prostitute. She would not be missed, even by the good people in this country who had acquired the new-found bravery to stand up for themselves. But in every society – good or bad – there are those who live in the shadows or on the edge of society. They would only rarely be missed, let alone protected – or avenged.

And for a brief moment in time – as she waited for the men to make their move – Evey Hammond knew that she too would not be missed if she were to be killed tonight. Sure – she could have been a local hero of sorts – had she chosen to come forward after November 5th, but she had remained in the shadows. She was wrapped in the cloak of the man she had loved, hiding her face behind his mask. For all intents and purposed she _was_ V.

V for vigilante.

One of the men lifted his arm to slap the girl. But before his flesh could ever touch hers, an icy scream disrupted the calm night. The man stood, looking in absolute horror, as he saw his own hand pierced straight through and pinned against the alley wall by a shining dagger.

It was not until the blood started running down his arm, that he realized the scream had been his.

Evey did not lose time. She appeared from out of the shadows and hit one of the other men over the head from behind. He fell to the ground, unconscious. The two remaining men now stood before her, ready for her attack. One of them came at her, his arms in a boxing position. But Evey had learned. She knew how to incapacitate people effectively in ways that were far more elegant than mere muscle power.

She waited for him to strike.

She avoided his blow, and with lunging forward he gave her exactly what she needed – a clean opening to quickly hit some pressure points. The Fingerman merely let out a sigh and collapsed.

Evey looked at the last man standing.

"Just you and me then, sir. Do you wish to continue, or would you prefer to run like the coward that you are?"

Evey was slightly amused by the words she spoke. It was not her speaking, nor her beloved V, but an entirely new dramatis persona that she had created. This – if anything – was her true mask.

"You…you're a woman!" the thug cried out.

"How incredibly perceptive of you, sir. You get 10 points for stating the obvious."

The revelation of her gender had somehow made the Fingerman more confident. Before Evey could blink, he had drawn a gun on her.

This was not good, she thought. Perhaps next time she should hold her tongue. But no matter, it was too late for that now.

"I will shoot" the man said, yet his hand were shaking.

"Oh, I am quite sure you will" Evey replied. "A duel, then?"

Evey narrowed her eyes under the mask. She watched the man's face. She knew his eyes would betray him a mere instant before his finger would pull the trigger. She would have to be fast.

He blinked. A shot was fired. A dagger swooshed through the air.

The two figures stood, unmoving, still facing each other.

Then the man seemed to lose balance, stumbling a few steps to his left. It was not violent, it was simply a display of a lack of control in motor skills, not unlike the clumsiness a young animal would have just after being born. But this man was not coming to this world, he was exiting it.

He was dead even before he fully reached the ground – and as soon as he had reached it, a pool of redness started to flow out from under him.

Evey stepped towards the body. She pulled out the dagger – not for shock effect - she was merely retrieving that which was rightfully hers. Then she stepped towards the first man – the one whose hand was still pinned down by her dagger and who had been forced to watch her entire "show". He shrunk back as she approached him, pleading for his life. Evey reached for the dagger penetrating his hand and pulled it out with one elegant move. The man shrieked in pain.

"If I see you doing this again, you will not get off so _lightly_ – do you understand?"

The man nodded, halfway in shock, and ran away in retreat.

Evey let her eyes wander to the young prostitute. She was shaking. Evey knew by now the girl was probably as afraid of her as she was of the men that had attacked her. So Evey did not approach. She merely bowed politely and disappeared back into the darknesss.

You see, Evey Hammond had bigger problems now than a frightened girl. For the bullet that was fired that night, had not entirely missed its target.


	2. The Man in the Shadows

Chapter 2 – The Man in the Shadows

He had not been sure it was her before he heard her speak.

People were talking about a vigilante. One with a Guy Fawkes mask, one should add. And he was quite curious who would be presumptuous enough to try and take his place.

He had followed the masked figure as long as it had been following the men – and in his mind there was even a moment where he appreciated the beauty and the humour of the act – a case of meta-stalking. He almost smirked under his own mask – almost. But the gravity of the situation prevented him from doing so.

When the new vigilante made the first move he felt admiration. The impostor had skill, grace, technique – talent even. Three men were taken out without much trouble – or hesitation.

However, it was not until the figure spoke that he knew…he knew it was Evey. His Evey. He shuddered in his own cloak.

It was his instinct to help her. Rescue her. But she was doing the rescuing now. Meta-rescue, he thought, and again almost smiled.

When the shot sounded he felt his heart fill with dread. He watched them stand immobile, for what might well have been an eternity.

When the man finally moved – mortally wounded – V felt relief. Relief, for she had won this battle. However, he was aware that the feeling of dread had not left him. In fact, it was a whole new level of dread.

He had made her into a killer.

V watched as she finished. As she retrieved her daggers. She was calm – cold.

He watched as she let the last man go, and he ran in fear. He saw the way the young girl – the girl Evey had been protecting – shrunk away when Evey looked at her.

He recognised this scene. He had been the protagonist of it many, many times. He knew now what Evey Hammond had done.

She had become him.

She disappeared back into the shadows. He knew how to follow. His eyes adjusted back to the dark.

She had an ever-so-slight limp. Her breath was slightly heavier. She reached to her side and brought her hand back so she could see it. Even from his safe distance V could see what it was. Her hand was covered in blood.

Will there be no end to feeling dread tonight?

She soon disappeared into the underground and made her way through the still abandoned railway tunnels. He knew n where she was going to lick her wounds.

She was going home.


	3. Back Home in Hades

Chapter 3 – Back Home in Hades

Evey groaned as she collapsed on the couch. The same couch where she and V had watched _Count of Monte Christo_ many, many months ago. She removed her mask, and her cloak.

There was blood. She knew there would be. There was just considerably more than she had anticipated. She reached for the medical supplies she had put next to her. Firstly, she washed the wound. It did not look so bad. She was shot just above her hip. Nothing important seemed to be damaged, but the bullet was still in.

_This would not be fun._

She poured disinfectant on the wound and cringed.

_And to think that was only the beginning._

She took a pair of tweezers in her hand, taking a deep breath – gathering courage. Her face contorted into a terrible grimace as the reached for the bullet.

It was lodged pretty deep, and she did not get it out on the first try. Nor on the second, or third,for that matter. It took her five tries before the bullet was finally out and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Now for the even less fun part. She needed to cauterise the wound. She watched as the tip of one of her blades went red in the fire. She grasped the dagger firmly in her hand.

_Just a little longer._

Then, with once swift move, she pressed the hot metal against her skin. Her scream was loud enough to wake the dead, but she between it she thought she heard…

_A moan…_

She was quite sure of it. And it had not been hers. She wiped the involuntary tears off her face.

"Finch? Is that you?"

There was no reply.

She tried to get up, but she was weak. She stumbled to her feet, dagger in hand. She looked around the room. Nothing moved.

"Hello?" she said, not really expecting a reply.

_Oh joy. You're probably hallucinating._

Evey walked around the shadow gallery, dagger in hand, seeing nothing - not even one of the rats she had befriended in her time living there.

She gave up, eventually, and went back to the couch to bandage her wound. After that, she made her way to the bed – the bed she woke up in on her very first night in the Shadow Gallery.

She was too tired to change into another attire – one more suitable for the night. She put the cloak and the mask on the bed and lay down beside them. She curled up on her unwounded side and wrapped her fingers around the cloak, nuzzling it with her face - imagining, against the laws of reason, that a man of flesh and blood lay beside her.

It was like this that she finally allowed herself to sleep.


	4. Welcome Home, Honey

Chapter 4 – Welcome Home, Honey

He was watching her. He had watched her all night. And watching, not revealing himself, had been torture.

Especially when she cauterised her would…it had been positively unbearable to watch. The moment the red metal touched her skin, he felt it like it was being done to him – the well-known excruciating pain inflicted when skin is burned – a pain he knew all too well.

He could even smell it – the sickening stench of burnt human flesh.

He must have let out a sound, for she had heard him. Oh how strong the urge had been to reveal himself then. But he was not sure it was what he wanted. In fact, none of this was what he wanted for her. He wanted her out in the sunlight, happy, rebuilding this country and looking forward to a bright future. He wanted her to forget him. To move on.

And he had found…this.

She was still sleeping now. She looked so childlike in her sleep, holding on to the cloak and the mask as if they were a teddy bear and a security blanket. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized they probably were. That in her sleep, in her most private of moments, she would still allow herself the little comfort she was denied in her waking hours.

Oh how he wanted to hold her then. To press the lithe body against him own, to give her the comfort she needed – they both needed. But how could he? How could he ever tell her he merely played dead? How could he – especially now that he saw it was the worst of his decisions.

She stirred. She opened her eyes. And she needed only a fraction of a second to notice him.

The next thing V knew, there was a dagger lodger into the wall, less than inch to the side of his face.

He knew she would not miss the second time. He jumped away as she came to her feet, and a second dagger swooshed dangerously close to him.

He would not take out his weapons – not against her – he would rather die again.

He merely retreated, and gracefully avoided the daggers she threw at him. They were back in the Shadow Gallery when she finally ran out of weapons. But that would not stop her. With all her might, she threw herself on him, actually making him lose balance.

_When did she get this strong?_

She landed right on top of him. In another time – another setting – this could have been her in the position of a stunning seductress, teasing her beloved. But now – now her body was a weapon, and she was pinning him to the floor – quite successfully, he might add.

He could have thrown her off, of course, but he would risk hurting her in doing so.

It was only when her hand reached for his mask, that he grabbed her wrist and stopped her.

"Evey, please..." he breathed.

In that moment he knew she recognized him. Her eyes widened. Her face went pale and blank. She did not even breathe. She was completely and utterly still, in the creepiest of fashions.

When she finally gasped for air, her body started shaking uncontrollably and droplets of tears started forming in her eyes. She let him go, retreating to the floor behind her. She sat down, still looking at him in disbelief and she brought her hand to cover her mouth and started to sob uncontrollably

"Is that you?" she asked with a shaking voice "or did that bullet kill me and am I…."

He did not give her time to finish. He moved swiftly to her and wrapped his arms around her. She clinged to him instantly, returning his embrace as if it were a physical need – one far more urgent than banalities like eating or sleeping. She buried her face in him, letting her whole body be enveloped by his cloak. She was still sobbing, there came no end to it. He patiently stroked her soft curls – curls that had grown back in his absence – and he held her. He held her as long as she needed to be held.

A short while after the sobs subsided, he realized she had cried herself to sleep. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to bed.


	5. Toast Will Not Do

Chapter 5 – Toast Will Not Do

When Evey Hammond woke up that morning, a delightful scent entered her nostrils. She jerked upright when the reality of it hit her. It meant that last night had not been a dream. It meant that…

Evey jumped to her feet. She cringed instantly, because her wound reminded her she should not be making such moves. But Evey ignored the pain and stormed out of her bedroom as fast as her feet would carry her.

When she saw him again, she stood nailed to the floor.

It really was V. _Her V_. He was standing there, in one of his ridiculous yet adorable aprons, making her breakfast. Like he had never been away.

"Good morning, Evey, are you hungry?" He asked kindly.

Evey still did not move.

She took in the moment. The delicious smell of the meal. The dim yet warm light, that fell on his masked face and caressed his dark wig in the most gentle of ways. The beauty and grace of his movements as he turned around to face her. Even every jagged scar on his hands, before he slid his hands in his gloves again. She wanted to hold on to this little deja-vu. Memorise every detail that she might have forgotten the first time around – the first time he made her eggs. How she yearned for that innocence again.

And then, for a fraction of a second, she was granted that small pleasure – her mind, her body, her entire being seemed to return in time. For that one moment…that one inch…she was the old Evey again, the Evey that saw him there in the kitchen for the very first time. And she shivered - not with fear - but with joy.

Reality, however, sunk in faster than she would have liked to. She was _not_ the old Evey. _He_ had seen to that. First by torturing her, then by telling her he loved her and then….

_A torture far more cruel than anything he had devised for her in her cell._

V set her plate down on the table. Evey approached him and sat down. She looked up at him, ignoring the food. She would handle this calmly, with dignity. At least that is what she kept telling herself.

"Toast will not do, V" she said finally.

It was no major statement. In fact it sounded like a terribly banal thing to say at this point. But she had spoken the sentence candidly, and V more than understood. He nodded his head slightly, and Evey just knew that behind the grin of the mask there must have been a very sad face indeed.

She motioned him to sit next down to her, and to her surprise he did. The mask looked at her quietly.

"Why?" she finally managed "Especially after you said…you said you loved…"

Evey Hammond choked on her words. She knew that finishing that sentence meant bursting into tears, and she really did not feel like doing _that._

"Evey…what is done out of love always takes place beyond good and evil.(1)" V sighed.

" _Nietzsche_ will not do either" she said coldly. "You promised me, no more lies".

V nodded. For a second Evey thought he would take her hands in his, but he hesitated.

"I fear there is truly not much to tell. I remember dying. I did die…or thought I did. That was no lie, Evey. It was _meant_ to end there."

"But it did not end there" Evey stated, quite redundantly.

V shook his head. "I woke up in a hospital…several weeks later. They all thought I was a lost cause, of course, except for a rather overachieving young surgeon who made it his mission to keep me alive. And eventually he succeeded"

" _Weeks_ , you said. Why did you not return then? Why wait for nearly a year?" Evey felt her distress growing again. She was not sure which she wanted to do more – to cry, or to smack him around.

_The bastard left me to suffer._

V took a deep breath.

"I knew you thought I was dead. It was too late to save you from the pain of mourning. I genuinely believed that it would pass, Evey. I wanted you to have a chance to…rebuild…to have a better life, both for yourself and for this country. I wanted you to have a chance to marry…have children…be happy. To have all the things I could never…"

He did not finish the sentence and looked at her, his entire being radiating sorrow.

"I don't believe this". Evey Hammond bit her lip and stood up. She crossed her arms as if she was protecting herself.

She saw V cowering under her cold gaze. She knew she was adding to his torment.

_Let him suffer a bit more._

"Damn you" she whispered. "Don't you daresaying you did it for me. Don't you _dare."_

_I will not cry. I will NOT._

"Evey, I realize now it was a mistake…" V said apologetically – pathetically, almost.

"That would be an understatement" Evey said coldly.

"I'm so sorry, Evey" he whispered.

"I'm afraid, V, sorry will not do _either_."

And with that, she turned away from him and returned to her room, for more words would surely only result in tears.

(1)What is done out of love always takes place beyond good and evil. _Friedrich Nietzsche_ , _Beyond Good and Evil, Aphorism 153_


	6. Some Things Shatter

Chapter 6 – Some Things Shatter

V felt his gloved fingers dig into the table.

He was angry – not at her, but at himself. V was used to anger, though, and the anger he could have dealt with.

It was the hurt that that held his heart in a vice grip that was the problem. Hurt was a feeling he thought he was beyond – he thought he'd had all the hurt he could have gotten in this lifetime, and lived through it.

Clearly, he was wrong.

This small, fragile creature had just wounded his heart with words that were much sharper than her daggers. And infinitely more painful.

And the worst part?

She was absolutely right.

V's fingers clawed into the wood. He wished he could leave his body, now much than ever. He just…wanted to burst out.

Instead, he sent Evey's plate flying across the room. It shattered instantly on impact with the wall, falling to the ground in little pieces, accompanied by a hellish noise.

_She must have heard, surely!_

Whether she heard or not, she did not react. The door to her room remained shut and she remained silent.

V sobbed. Just one sob, then he went quiet. It was the one inch of sadness he allowed himself to have. One sob – the rest of his pain would remain inside, for him alone to deal with.

He composed himself, stood up and started to clean up the mess he made. When that was finished, he washed up after breakfast.

He did not know exactly how long he took. He knew it was a while. He deliberately procrastinated. The simplicity of manual work calmed him. And right now he needed something to keep busy with.

He must have been completely oblivious to the world, because he did not notice her until she called out his name.

When he turned around, his heart stopped.

Evey Hammond was standing in the middle of the room. She was wearing a delicate, white summer dress with a bright red floral pattern. Her red sandals matched the flowers of her dress. She was wearing make-up, too, and had a flower in her hair. She looked…absolutely stunning.

"I'm going out", she stared matter-of-factly.

V took a deep breath.

"Are you sure, Evey? You were hurt. You should be resting"

"Are you sure, V, that's the reason you do not want me to go?" Evey bounced the question back at him.

V felt a fist clench around his heart. She was right, of course. Again, she was right. She learnt to read him quite well – and he was not quite sure if that was good or bad.

He did not reply her. He was sure she never really expected him to.

There was a small moment of insecurity in her. A moment where her fingers absently toyed with the hem of her dress. She was probably not even aware of it. But the next moment she released the fabric from her hand, and all doubt was gone.

She looked at him in a way he did not know – and it disconcerted him that he could not make out what that look meant.

"I'm afraid it can't be helped, V. This date was set days ago, and I cannot cancel it now"

_Wait, did she say date?_

He cringed, and he saw that Evey saw. In another situation he might have joked about it.

"We did this once before, didn't we?" she said, with a faint hint of nostalgia in her voice.

V nodded sadly. "Yes, dear Evey, we have".

"I promised you I'd return then, and I promise I'll return now. And you will not have to wait for months this time. But do remember one thing…"

V looked up. "What's that, Evey?"

"This is  _my_  home now. And it is you who are my guest. Now, I do apologise – but Eric is waiting."

"Eric?" V nearly blurted it out, in a very uncharacteristic way. "Would that be Inspector Eric  _Finch_?"

"One and the same", she replied.

V nodded sadly.

Evey turned to leave, but then seemed to change her mind. She turned in her step, her high-heeled sandals clicking as she walked back to V. She reached up and kissed the forehead of his mask – chastely, yet…lovingly?

_Could it be lovingly?_

"Beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on…" (2) She whispered, nearly inaudibly.

Then she walked away again – and this time, did not look back.

(2) 'O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on; that cuckold lives in bliss Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger; But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, ye _\- William Shakespeare, Othello_


	7. A Table for Two

Chapter 7 – A Table for Two

Evey felt the warm September breeze on her face as she walked out into the street. Summer was saying goodbye to England, and soon people would hide inside from the rain again, days would get shorter and the nights – the nights that had become Evey's realm – would dominate over the days.

More crime would come under the veil of nighttime, hoping not to be seen, and Evey knew she'd have her hands full.

Soon people would need more of the vigilante and less of the girl. Soon - but not today. Today, on one of these precious last days of summer, Persephone could still roam freely, high above the Underworld. (3)

The restaurant was not far, and she welcomed the chance to walk the distance there – giving herself the pleasure of walking in the sun and clearing her head.

V….he made her so very angry, but on the other hand she was just happy he was alive.

But, what now? Where could they go from here?

She stood before the restaurant before she realized it. It was an Indian Restaurant – one of the few that had re-opened after November 5th. She pushed the door and a delicate bell rang. The restaurant was large, and many people had gathered for the all-you-can-eat lunch buffet. "Bollywood Boulevard" - for that was the establishment's name - had decorated its walls with film idols of Indian movies. The place had become quite popular for those who used to be against the Norsefire regime. Many young people and post-revolutionaries would come here and discuss matters of politics and the like, and conversations were always lively.

Evey did not go unnoticed in this particular crowd – every time she came here at least one of the other guests would recognize her and drink to the health of Evey Hammond.

Eric Finch was already waiting for her at a table for two, and he waved at her as she walked in. She smiled and joined him, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek as a greeting before sitting down.

"So, how are you Evey?" Finch asked.

"Oh, you know. The usual."

"I took the liberty of putting some things on the table. I'm not exactly sure what you like, but we can get more, of course."

"It will be fine," Evey said with a smile. She put some chicken tikka on her plate and started to eat eagerly.

"Hungry?"

"I didn't have breakfast." Evey said, as she practically stuffed herself.

"You really should take better care of yourself, Evey" Finch said with genuine worry.

"I need to tell you something" Evey confessed as she downed her food with some red wine.

She looked at Finch with some hesitation.

"An old friend unexpectedly calm back from the dead. You know, the one who supposedly died on November 5th".

Finch eyes widened and he choked on his garlic naan. (4)

"You're joking" he managed, before making more choking noises.

Evey shook her head. "I do not joke about such things. Are you all right?"

Finch nodded, still choking.

"I suppose it would be a bad time for…this" Finch said as he regained his composure, and put a square box on the table. Evey took it in her hand and opened it. In it was a silver chain with a rose-shaped pendant.

"Oi, mate, did you just propose to the lady?" a voice from the restaurant sounded.

Evey turned in the man's general direction. She shook her head. "No, but it's lovely!" She smiled broadly.

She then turned back to Finch and took the chain out of its box, locking it around her neck. She then leaned over to kiss Finches cheek.

"The timing is…unfortunate. But things will proceed as we planned them. As for V…he will just have to deal with it."

Evey absently toyed with her pendant, and took another sip of her wine. When she got home, she'd have some explaining to do.

(3) Persephone, in Greek mythology, is the Queen of the Underworld. She was kidnapped from the world above by the God Hades, who took her as his wife. Her mother, Demeter - a nature Goddess - cast the world into winter in her daughter's absence. Crops died, things ceased to bloom.

Finally an arrangement was made where Persephone would spend part of the year with her mother, and part of the year with her husband. As Demeter was always sad when her daughter was away, the word went cold. When Persephone returned, everything started to grow again. This explains, according to mythology, the changing of seasons.

 

(4) naan is a type of bread, which can come in several flavours – garlic is one of them.


	8. Revelations & Roses

Chapter 8 – Revelations & Roses

V had been sitting in front of the television in the Shadow Gallery for most of the afternoon. In here, the time of day did not really matter and he could just as well pretend he was having a cozy evening in front of the telly.

He was watching _Othello –_ the old black-and-white version with Orson Welles. Watching and not really watching - for his mind was definitely not focused on the movie. He kept thinking of Evey's quote, and what it could have meant.

She warned him of jealousy – and if true to the play – if he were Othello and she were Desdemona, then she was faithful and he was merely suspicious. But she had quoted Iago, not Desdemona – so what did that mean? Was she going to betray him after all, in a way that not a lover does, but a competitor? After all – she _had_ taken his place.

V was still running possible scenarios through his head, when Evey returned from her outing.

When he looked at her, he noticed the rose-shaped pendant instantly – as well as the square jewelry box she clutched in her hand.

"I see Mr. Finch came bearing gifts" V stated, a coldness creeping into his voice.

"So he did". Evey kicked off her sandals. She went over to the couch and sat down next to V.

"You know, you really should have listened to my advice. Jealousy does not become you."

"I'm sorry, Evey, but the heart is a fickle master" V sighed.

Evey shook her head. Her demeanor seemed to soften. "It is I who should apologise, V. I fear I haven't been entirely frank with you."

V felt his heart stop. This was it. The moment he had been dreading all day. She was going to tell him of her little affair with Eric Finch – or possibly, her not-so-little affair. For all he knew they were getting married next month. Hell, maybe she was already pregnant. And here he was, absolutely redundant and an obstacle in their pursuit of happiness.

"Evey…I'll leave, if you want. After all, this is what I dreamed for you. A normal life…"

"Oh hush! I was _angry_ , V. I wanted you to ache like I ached."

"I don't understand, Evey." V said carefully.

Evey sighed and unclasped her necklace. She put the silver rose in V's gloved hand.

"Look at it. _Really_ look at it." Evey, in turn, looked at the eyes of the mask, trying to read his emotions.

V held the pendant in his hand. He inspected it. There seemed nothing odd about it at first, but then….

"It's a tracking device…and, a microphone!"

Evey nodded. Without further words, she handed V the jewelry box, too. He looked at her questioningly.

"Open it" she said.

He did so, without delay. Again, there seemed to be nothing unusual about it at first. But V had learned his lesson. He inspected the box thoroughly, and noticed it was larger than needed for such a delicate piece of jewelry. Soon he discovered a small lever and as he pushed it, the top compartment of the box came loose, revealing a hidden space under the false bottom. In it were 6 photographs, and a small piece of paper with an address. It took him a while to realize what it was, but then it struck him with frightening clarity.

"This is a hit list" It was not a question, but a statement.

Evey nodded. "I'm not Eric Finch's _lover_. I'm his _assassin_. I take care of his little dirty business. The Provisional Government knows, of course, but would never officially condone it. They also like to know when to intervene. Or when to get rid of bodies…theirs, or mine. Hence the tracking device.

"Who are the people in these pictures?" V asked, feeling his heart sink again.

"Ex-Norsefire" she replied, "…or what remains of them anyway. But if they gather strength they could take over again. Trust me, these are no innocents. They blackbagged more people than they themselves can remember."

"If all this is true…why need the innuendo?"

"Maybe you rubbed off on me, V." Evey sighed. "But mostly – Evey Hammond can't be associated with the nightly vigilante, and the vigilante can't be associated with Finch. So I pretend to be Finch's sweetheart, preferably in public places. People see us flirting – there's nothing suspicious about that. I never meet him as my alter ego, so, he's never seen with "V"."

"…and you give each other information in broad daylight, right under everyone's noses". V continued.

"Exactly" Evey smiled.

V understood now. It was quite a good plan, in fact. One he might have come up with if his face was presentable in daylight. He could on occasion get away with a latex mask that looked human, but only in the cover of darkness. That particular disguise would not survive the scrutiny of daylight.

But his Evey could move between light and darkness and enter both realms with the same ease.

"So when exactly did you become an assassin?" V asked.

"When you stopped being one".

V and Evey looked at each other for the longest time. Finally – timidly – V brought his gloved hand to Evey's cheek.

She did not retract. She placed her own hand over V's and stroked it gently. She closed her eyes, pressing her cheek more firmly into his palm.

"I supposed I can't talk you out of it," V finally spoke.

Evey opened her eyes. The look in her eyes told him everything. If not for her beauty, he could swear he was looking into a mirror – for he recognized the look. It was the same look he had every time he went out to kill one of his tormentors from Larkhill. A look he never expected to see on Evey. Yet there it was, clear as day. He realized what caused it, too. He knew why she hated these men so much. She was avenging _him._

It invoked fear in him – another emotion he thought he'd never feel again. Not fear _of_ her, but fear _for_ her.

"Will you at least let me help you?" he asked.

Evey nodded. She moved closed to him on the couch, pulling one of his arms around her. He embraced her gratefully.

"We make quite a pair, don't we?" she whispered against his chest. It was meant to be said lightly. It was meant to be funny, even. But there was an unmistakable sadness in her voice. She had resigned herself to this fate.

Soon, V thought, he would show her another way – but for tonight, he would simply hold her.


	9. An Exercise in Proximity

Chapter 9 – An Exercise in Proximity

Evey Hammond stood in the center of the "training room", holding a sword in each hand. She appreciated the symmetry of it – if was very much like the way she fought with daggers, but on a larger scale. What made the symmetry even more perfect, was her elegant masked opponent. He too was holding twin swords, ready for the attack.

Two dark clad figures standing in a room. Evey knew that V too would appreciate the aesthetics of it.

It was Evey who struck first, and what followed was a strange of battle choreography. Four swords were flying through the air with admirable grace, hitting one another with genuine ferocity, while never losing their elegance. Steel hit steel in an almost rhythmic fashion, the clinging of metal against metal was almost a melody. The warriors themselves were exquisite dancers – spinning, turning, jumping, ducking – their bodies moving in a strange reverse harmony while avoiding the attack of the other.

In the heat of the battle Evey realized her body was tingling with anticipation. It was not just the adrenalin. Or the fatigue. It was not even the subcutaneous fear of the task that lay ahead of her. It was, quite simply, the excitement of being in proximity of the man she was in love with. She had never spoken the words – not even when V had as he lay bleeding in her arms – but inside she had known it all along. Lips can stay silent, but the heart cannot. And now her heart was beating overtime. Every blow of her swords was a touch – a touch that made the little hairs on her arms and neck stand upright. Every time their bodies brushed in battle, she felt a shiver through her spine. And then, their strange dance ended.

He won.

He crossed his blades over her neck, pinning her against the wall. And to Evey's great disconcertment, she could not care less about the sharp steel digging into her flesh. That was entirely bearable. What was unbearable, was that in this position his mask was only a few inches removed from her face. She was overcome by the desire to kiss him…a desire so strong it clouded the rest of her mind.

V saw her inner turmoil.

"Evey, are you all right?" he asked as he lowered his swords.

Then it happened of course, as it inevitably would. A soon as the metal no longer stood in Evey's way, she placed her hands alongside the mask and brought her lips to the inanimate mouth. While pressing her lips against his, her arms locked around his neck, drawing him close to her. Even though he could not reciprocate the movement of lips, Evey Hammond could honestly say this was the most wonderful kiss in her lifetime.

She could tell he was a bit taken aback by it, and he only dared to touch her ever so slightly, placing his gloved hands on her upper arms. This however, was not from a lack of want. When Evey Hammond released him from that kiss, V's breathing was ragged underneath the mask - a clear signal to Evey that he was indeed not unmoved by her actions.

Afterwards he just….looked at her, saying nothing. Finally, she decided to break the tension.

"I'm a sore loser," she said. "I needed a consolation price."

Still he did not react.

_Oh well, it was not for a lack of trying…_

"I should shower", she said as she started to walk away.

I was then that she felt a gloved hand clutch hers.

"Stay". It was a whisper, barely audible. Like he was afraid of how she would respond.

_Was he?_

As she turned to face him she wondered what expression lay on the face behind the mask. He did not move, and his head was tilted slightly downward. It quite possibly could be fear, Evey supposed, or even shame – judging from that pose.

_How long since he loved? Could he even remember?_

"I'm not going anywhere, V". She stepped closer again. She released his hand, wrapping her arms around him, laying her head on his chest. I took a moment, until V could bring himself to react. Then, finally, Evey felt his arms lock around her and she was drawn into the warmth of his embrace.

She literarily heard his hear skip a beat. And then…a sob. Evey thought she might have imagined it, but then….another.

She pulled her head away from his chest and looked up at his ever grinning face. Never had it bothered her so much as now – now the contrast between the grin and the distress V was so obviously feeling was simply unbearable, a cruel mockery to both their feelings.

"V, are you all right?" she asked, completely redundantly, but unable to find any words that would be right.

He nodded his head. "I'll be fine in a minute." He tried to compose himself.

"I wish I could be more eloquent, my dear Evey, but I fear my speech has abandoned me."

"It's ok, V." She placed a hand on each side of his masked face. She stroked his cheeks softly – even though she knew he could not feel it, it somehow felt like the right thing to do. He responded, pressing back against her touch ever so slightly.

"V, I want you to know something…" Evey paused.

He looked at her expectantly. "Yes, Evey?"

"If something goes wrong tomorrow when we take on those ex-Norsefire men…"

"Nothing will go wrong. Everything is meticulously planned. And we will cover each other," V interrupted her.

"I know." Evey nodded. "But on the off chance…. Firstly, I'm still mad at you for letting me think you were dead. That was a horrible thing to do."

She felt V cringe under her touch again.

"That being said….I love you too, V"

V took in a sharp breath. He was not expecting her little confession. She had not expected to say it, either. Yet here it was, spoken out loud and irreversible. Not that she wanted to take it back.

"I never did say it the first time, when you…but it's true…" Her voice trailed off. She did not wish to bring back those particular memories. V held her closely, offering her the comfort of his own living, breathing self.

"Evey, I'm afraid that this is the second time today that I am at a loss for words," he whispered in her ear.

"Then don't speak. Just…be." She replied.

He understood. She knew from the way he held her, from the way he breathed. She allowed herself this moment of indulgence and melted into the false safety of his arms. However, part of her knew that neither of them was safe and come tomorrow, things could easily change for the worse.


	10. Death & Decay

Chapter 10 – Death & Decay

Two dark shadows were perched upon the roof of the derelict building, watching the proceedings below.

Well, it should be said the shadows were not quite shadows and the roof was not quite a roof. The shadows were very much flesh and blood, while the roof on the other hand was not quite whole, as it had collapsed in several places.

Evey watched the ant-sized people in the street with a predatory gaze. Since V's return, she had traded her Guy Fawkes mask for a simple black yet elegant model – one that allowed V to see her eyes much more clearly. V recognised the look in them and it ran shivers down his spine.

_The eyes of a killer._

And that was not V's only worry. It turned out; this operation had in fact _not_ been so meticulously planned. The blueprints of the house were _somewhat_ correct, yes - but judging from the way things looked now, they were at least 15 years old – probably older. The building has been left uninhabited and had decayed accordingly – a thing neither of them had counted on.

They had decided to attack from the top, for a tactical advantage. But things being as they were, V judged coming from the sewers would have been safer. Alas, it was too late to change strategy now.

If they went in, they would be improvising. And V did not like that one bit.

"Evey…," he whispered against the wind, "Are you sure you wish to do this?"

Her brown eyes turned to face him and her killer instinct disappeared from her being, as if she was somehow unable to be unkind in his presence.

"No. But it needs to be done."

She sounded serene, accepting of her fate. While V had tried to free her from fear, he found _this_ particular calmness creepy.

Below the Ex-Norsefire men entered the building – a cue to start moving. Evey graciously moved over the decaying roof and lowered herself through one of the holes, softly landing in the attic. V followed in her footsteps, quietly.

The attic floor had holes in it as well, and was far from stable. Below them, there was the faint sound of a door closing and voices, too, could be heard even though the words were unintelligible. It was clear to V that if the men below could be heard, they in turn could hear Evey and him. Evey seemed to realise this as well – each of her steps was cautious.

She found another hole large enough to fit through and made her way to the 2nd story of the house. V followed her. His larger frame had trouble fitting though the opening, but he still managed to do so without a sound.

Here the floor was fairly intact. Crawling through would not be an option. The voices below were louder now, a living testament of how close they were to danger. Evey motioned to the wall. The hole in it was a remnant left from better days, when this house belonged to a rich family that had installed a service elevator. It had showed up on the plans Evey had. While it went all the way up to the building, it was not the safest means of travel, because it was hard to estimate the level of decay.

Evey wanted to crawl in, but V stopped her.

"Normally I would let a lady go first, but - I'm heavier. If I fall…." V whispered the words into Evey's ear quite literally, afraid of being heard.

"If you fall, we're both dead anyway," she whispered back, her voice trembling ever-so-slightly.

It was not a true protest, though. She allowed V to crawl into the narrow shaft first. The elevator itself was long gone but the opening seemed to be fairy stable still. V held himself up by his hands and feet, slowly lowering himself. He felt his heart beat with every inch he climbed down. He never felt such fear before on one of his "missions", and he knew with great clarity it was not his life he feared for – but hers.

Carefully he made the last few inches and quietly climbed out of the shaft on the 1st floor of the house. The Ex-Norsefire group was just below his feet, on ground level, separated from him only by a few metres.

Evey made her way into the shaft now, and V was watching her descent. V felt his heartbeat fasten.

_Come on, come on, just a little further._

When Evey had almost reached V, a part of the shaft's wall came loose. It were only a few pieces of crumbled brick, really, but it was enough the make her lose her grip and send her crashing down. With amazing swiftness, V reached out and caught her before she could fall all the way down. The pieces of brick, however, did make their way down the shaft – landing downstairs with considerable noise.

Evey had not even fully realized what happened when a voice from below sounded.

"Hey, what's that sound?"

Evey looked at V bewilderedly, knowing they had been found out.

She quickly removed herself from his embrace, heading for yet another hole in the floor.

V joined her, seeing the people below when peeking through. There were indeed six of them – five men and a woman. It looked as though they had been seated around a table, but they were getting up now and one of the men was looking up the elevator shaft.

There was no time to lose, and they both knew it. Either they would have to withdraw now or they would attempt the kill anyway. Evey slid her twin daggers into her hands. With that simple action, V knew withdrawal was not on Evey's mind.

Silently and swiftly, Evey threw one of the daggers through the hole. It embedded itself into the skull of one of the men.

He did not make a sound. It was unclear for a minute if his wound was severe or not – but then he simply collapsed on the floor. The woman – a heavyset blonde in her forties – screamed as she saw this, and suddenly everyone was in panic.

V realised this was an opportunity and ran back to the shaft. He jumped down without hesitation. The man who was still inspecting it, did not know what hit him when V jumped down on him with his full weight. A second after that, V locked his hands around his neck and snapped it like a twig.

Evey was still in her strategic position above, and threw another dagger. It hit one of the Ex-Norsefire men straight in the heart.

But an improvised attack had its down sides. One of the remaining men – a tall, Arian-looking creature suddenly pulled out a handgun and started firing randomly in Evey's general direction. While none of the bullets hit Evey, they destabilised the already decayed ceiling and sent part of it crashing down to the ground floor.

V – still in the shaft – heard the terrible noise and the next thing he knew everything was enveloped in a gigantic dust cloud. V moved out into the room. While his mask protected him fairly well from breathing in dust, he was just as blind as the others. He heard coughing all around him.

Then he suddenly realized one of the coughs was unmistakably Evey's.

_Oh no. She fell down._

He was trying to make his way to her, when someone grabbed him from the side, pulling him to the ground. He felt a fist punch against his mask.

_Stupid boy. That probably hurt him more than me._

V reached for one of his knives, and when his attacker lunged at him a second time he was quite simply impaled on the sharp blade, and his limp body fell on top of V. V pushed the corpse aside with a groan.

_I'm getting too old for this._

V struggled to his feet. The air was clearing now and he could make out three more figures. One of them – the woman – was coughing, while supporting herself on the table that was surprisingly still standing. The other was the Arian man with the gun, who was desperately trying to make out here he was, pointing his gun out in random directions.

The third figure, of course, was Evey, who was lying on the floor amidst of the debris. She appeared to be moving but made no attempt to get up.

Then a shot was fired, filling the room with a deafening noise. V was not sure where the bullet went, but he was quite sure he was not hit. He threw himself on the Arian man, sending the gun flying across the floor. V did not lose any time, and slit the man's throat. The man made choking noises as life itself flowed out of him, but V did not flinch…that is, until he heard the unmistakable sound of someone cocking a gun.

"Don't move" he heard a woman's voice say, and it was not Evey's.

V froze.

_This is not good._

"Turn around," the voice continued.

V turned around to face his opponent. The plump, blonde woman was pointing the gun directly at him. He knew that if she would shoot him point blank like this, the rumours of his death might _not_ be exaggerated.

The woman's face went pale, but she composed herself and in seconds fear made place for hate.

" _You!_ You're supposed to be dead!"

"Well, I _am_ sorry to disappoint you, Milady, but I am very much alive."

V contemplated making a bow, but decided it would probably get him shot.

"Did you really think you could get away with this?" the woman asked.

V did not get a chance to reply, for the woman suddenly let out a loud scream. The cause of that scream was a dagger that had embedded itself into her arm.

Evey's dagger.

Surprisingly, the woman had not dropped the gun and swiftly turned to Evey's direction. V took advantage her distraction and lunged at her with one of him knives.

He stabbed her….but not before one more shot was fired.

V's heart filled with dread. In one quick move, he broke the woman's neck – just to make sure she was really dead.

He made his way to Evey and knelt down next to her.

The expanding stain of blood on her chest confirmed what he already suspected – that his greatest fear had indeed become reality.


	11. Ride Like the Wind

Chapter 11 – Ride Like the Wind

Eric Finch had been sitting in his car for most of the afternoon. He tried everything from reading several newspapers to cleaning his nails with a pocketknife, yet he still was losing his battle against boredom.

He was parked only a couple of blocks away from the Ex-Norsefire hideout – far enough not to rouse suspicion, close enough to intervene when needed.

To be entirely honest, Eric Finch did not count on actually being needed. Evey had been doing this "job" for over six months now, and not once had she requested his assistance. He knew that she sometimes sported some cuts and bruises when he saw her after one of her assignments - but she never complained, never asked to stop.

So when he heard a cracking noise – the sound of Evey's microphone being activated – he was quite surprised. He did not have long to think about it, though. In an instant V's voice – not Evey's – could be heard on the other end, requesting immediate assistance.

Eric activated the tracking device, lighting up a green grid on his "watch", showing an approximate schematic of the building.

If Evey still had her pendant on – and he assumed she did – she was on ground level.

_Good. I can work with that._

Without further a due, he turned the key in the ignition and kicked his old car into motion. His tires screeched as he pulled out of his parking spot with amazing speed. London traffic was hell as usual, but Eric Finch had some experience with what he referred to as _creative driving._

He managed to get past a lorry that was blocking his way. He got ahead of the metal monster by mere inches, causing other drivers to honk in anger and frustration. Just as he was making speed, a traffic light went from green to orange.

_Darn, not now._

He accelerated and ran through the red light. He barely missed a car coming from the other side of the intersection.

The next second, he found himself having to evade a cyclist. He was not entirely successful and briefly bumped into the front tire of the bike, causing the man to lose balance. The man managed to jump off, yelling obscenities at Finch's car.

When watching the man in the rear view mirror, Eric saw he was giving him the finger.

Finally Finch took a sharp turn, entering the street of his destination. Without much hesitation, he stepped firmly on the gas pedal. The car flung forwards, gaining momentum, until finally crashing into the door of the old derelict building, taking part of the wall with it as it drove halfway into the house.

Some debris landed on the car, and a dust cloud filled the room again. Eric Finch cautiously tried to move his limbs, making sure nothing was broken.

From out of the dust, a dark figure appeared. As the figure approached, Finch could see it was indeed V, holding an immobile Evey in his arms.

Eric felt a coldness creeping up on him. While his "affair" with Evey had indeed been an act, he had grown very fond of her nonetheless.

"You should leave dramatic entrances to me, Mr. Finch. This was entirely unnecessary." V breathed.

He opened the back door and laid Evey gently on the seat.

"I hope your car still works after how you mistreated it. We need to get moving fast."

"What's wrong with her?" Finch asked, turning to see them.

"No time…just go." V commanded.

Eric was already starting up the engine. The car backed out of the building in reverse, landing them back on the street.

"Are we going to a hospital?" Eric asked as he drove out of the street.

V shook his head, making his white mask look ominous.

"Head East - and ride like the wind, Mr. Finch. We have very little time"

Eric nodded and ran another red light, angering half a dozen more drivers.

"What's East?" He asked as he zigzagged through the traffic.

"A acquaintance", V replied.

In his rear view mirror Finch could see that V was pressing a cloth against Evey's chest – a cloth that was slowly turning red.

Evey lay motionless. Finch was not even sure she was breathing. A few droplets of blood had already made their way to the seat, staining it.

Then V looked up, locking his gaze with Eric's in the mirror.

"Also, Mr. Finch, I will need you to stop looking at me." V said calmly.

Eric was baffled by that particular request. V, quite likely, saw this and decided to elaborate on the matter.

"This particular occasion will require me to take off my mask. Let us not make the situation more unpleasant than is needed." V spoke to Finch, while still pressing the cloth against Evey's wound.

Eric simply nodded, and made sure to keep his eyes on the road. After all, with his driving style, it was the safest thing to do anyway.


	12. A Familiar Stranger

Chapter 12 – A Familiar Stranger

The Bartholomew Resort was more a private clinic and a sanatorium than a resort, but its inhabitants preferred the euphemism.

It looked out over the river Thames, giving both the doctors and the patients a delightful view.

They were mainly burn victims from rich families, those patients, who came there to revalidate – and sometimes to hide from the eyes of the outside world.

In recent years, however, the Bartholomew Resort had developed a charity fund that allowed a few poorer patients to be treated there, too.

The Resort was founded 21 years ago by Dr. Lynne Bartholomew, in memory of her late husband.

Dr. Bartholomew, despite pushing 60, was still the head physician there. Her greatest prides were her two children, Elizabeth and Alexander, who had followed in her footsteps.

It was Alexander, her youngest, who got and unexpected visitor that late afternoon after doing his last round of patients.

He was flipping through the patient files, when a strong arm grabbed his and pulled him into a storage room. A sharp knife was placed against his throat and the young doctor thought that this would be his final hour, but then a voice spoke with unexpected softness.

"It is not my intention to hurt you, but I need your help. I'm not asking it, I'm demanding it. When I remove my knife I need to know you will cooperate. No harm will come to you if you do. Do we have a deal, doctor?"

_That voice…I know that voice._

Alexander nodded his head silently. The pressure on his throat was removed. He cautiously turned around and stared into a pair of blue eyes. The eyes were quite beautiful, he realised. The rest of the face, of course, was a complete mockery compared to those eyes. While Alexander had seen many burn victims in his life, this was clearly the worst case he ever laid eyes on. The worst case that had survived, anyway.

Yet it was not so much the face that startled him…but the fact that he _knew_ this face.

Almost one year ago now, he had tended to this man's wounds. He took what must have been over a dozen bullets out of his chest.

The man had been unconscious most of the time and then one day he had simply disappeared from his hospital bed. Alexander feared he might have died but he was… _alive._

V - for that was who the man was - did not let him think for very long.

"Come, good doctor, there's no time to lose".

V made his way to the back of the storage room. There, wrapped in a blanked, Evey Hammond lay unconsciously. Alexander's face filled with horror. He knelt beside Evey and unwrapped the bloodstained blanket. He could tell it was a bullet wound right away.

"How long since she was shot?" Alexander asked, looking up to V.

"Fifteen, twenty minutes maybe."

"Twenty minutes! Surely there was a hospital that was closer!"

"There was," V replied," but that was not an option."

Alexander decided arguing with this man would only lose them valuable time. He examined Evey's wound.

"How long has she been unconscious?" Alexander asked.

"Since the beginning. And she fell before they shot her, too."

"She needs surgery right away."

Alexander got up and looked round the room. To his great relief there were indeed some spare beds present. He practically ran towards one of them, and pushed it towards Evey.

Together with V, he lifted Evey onto the bed.

Alexander pushed the bed back into the hallway, sprinting towards the Operating Room. V followed him on the foot.

"You realise we're supposed to report gunshot wounds?"

"Yes. But I trust you won't. After all, you did not report mine."

Alexander rolled his eyes. He had gotten himself into a fine little mess. But he could not let this girl die.

"Fine, then!" Alexander shouted as he barged into the Operating Room. "But I'll need assistance, and you're my only option as a nurse if you wish to keep this quiet."

Alexander threw V a nurse's apron – and even on that horribly scarred face, he could make out an expression of confusion.

Alexander took a deep breath. This was going to be a _long_ night.


	13. Close to the Heart

Chapter 13 – Close to the Heart

When people are in love, they often wish to know _everything_ about each other. To know every thought, every dream, and every crevice of their lover's body. But it occurred to V – as he was standing next to Dr. Alexander Bartholomew when he was suturing Evey's chest – that there are parts of those you love you should _never_ see.

Alexander found out Evey had been extremely lucky. While the bullet had indeed hit her very close to the heart - it had missed it by a few millimeters. In fact, it managed to miss her lungs too…as well as any other vital organ for that matter.

Alexander finished closing the wound and let out a sigh. He put down his equipment and wiped his brow.

V was just standing there, radiating a sense of numbness.

It was not the blood that had bothered him. Or the doctor's tools, which would be creepy to some. It was just that when Alexander had taken out the bullet, he could feel his own old bullet scars ache. It was some strange phantom pain he felt for the woman that had over time become a part of him.

She had become so much like him – they had different bodies, but they stood for the same idea. He should be flattered, really. But if this was the result of it…it was hardly worth it.

"Congratulations on not fainting" Alexander said to V, taking him out of his contemplative state.

"I assure you, doctor, I have seen worse. Just not on _her._ Will she be all right?"

"Honestly?" Alexander made a hand movement that signaled his frustration. "I do not know. She was very lucky the bullet did not hit anything major. But, the blood loss was considerable _and_ she has a concussion. She really should not be asleep, but there's not much of a choice."

Alexander rubbed his eyes. His whole body was showing signs of exhaustion.

"Really, you _should_ have taken her to the nearest hospital. She could have _died._ She still could die, in fact!"

V was getting quite aggravated. While the young doctor was technically right, he still felt the uncontrollable urge to wrap his fingers around his throat and crush his windpipe.

"You do not have to _preach_ , doctor. It does not become you. In fact, it's often even unbecoming of preachers. Matters are complicated, but make no mistake – her life is worth more to me than anything else in this world."

V reached for Evey's hand, entwining his scarred fingers with her delicate ones. He carefully stroked her cheek with his other hand – almost afraid to touch. Tentatively his fingers found their way to her mouth, brushing gently over her lips. How good it felt to touch her. To _really_ touch her, uninhibited by his gloves.

_Well, aren't you the hero. You're taking advantage of an unconscious girl. Bravo._

He withdrew his hands and a single tear flowed over his scarred cheek. Alexander's demeanor became mellower.

"Come," he said." Let's find her a room"

V took off the nurse's apron and folded it neatly. Compared to his brightly coloured cooking aprons, this specimen looked very sad indeed. Alexander gently tapped V on the shoulder, signaling it was time to get moving.

V and Alexander wheeled the bed out of the operating room, into the hallway.

Then…the unexpected clicking echoed through the corridors. A young nurse came into view. V felt like he was being nailed to the floor – one painful nail at a time. Alexander too, looked unpleasantly surprised by this encounter.

"Good Evening Dr. Bartolomew, still working so late?" the girl said with a cheerfulness that could make your blood boil.

Her eyes trailed off to look at V. There was just a little pause, where V was sure that she was taking in his face. Then the girl flashed him a smile most toothpaste commercials would envy.

"Well hello there, Sir. Is everything to your liking?"

V was caught a bit of guard, but nodded politely to the girl.

"Yes, Miss. Thank you. We are perfectly fine."

The girl flashed him one of her smiles again.

"And how is this patient doing?" She asked as she looked at Evey and reached out to pull her covers up.

It was then that Alexander intervened, gently taking her hand and pulling it away from Evey. He took the young nurse aside, whispering in her ear.

"Sally, these people are rich. I mean, _very_ rich. They are paying us extra for _privacy_."

"Oh. _Oh!_ Of course! I shall be on my way then."

"Sally" turned to V once more.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Sir. I hope you have a fine evening".

She flashed Alexander one more smile, then headed on her way, her heels clicking as before.

Alexander scratched his head. He looked at V, who was chuckling.

"Her enthusiasm is sometimes…tiring. I think we need to keep her of the caffeine"

"I believe the young lady is enamoured with you", V commented.

"Oh dear. Let's hope not."

Alexander turned to the task at hand, started pushing Evey's bed again and headed for the elevator. It was large and could easily accommodate 3 or 4 beds. He took V and Evey up to the 3rd floor, pushing the bed out into yet another hallway.

V always felt slightly uncomfortable in hospitals. The sterile environment vaguely reminded him of Larkhill and he did not particularly care to be reminded. But for Evey's sake, he'd walk through hellfire if it were needed.

Alexander stopped at the end of the hallway, opening a room. He pushed Evey's bed inside. V followed.

It was dark by now and the room was filled with shadows, cast into the room by London's nocturnal illumination. V felt more at ease now that he once again had the cover of darkness.

Alexander stood in the doorway still – his silhouette was outlined in the door's frame.

"Most rooms on this floor are empty. But be careful still – you can move around unnoticed, but she…well, she's not our usual clientele."

V contemplated the irony of the matter. Yes, he knew now there was indeed a place where his ravaged face would be normal, and Evey – his beautiful Evey – would be the anomaly. And one need not be a rocket scientist to tell a bullet wound from a burn mark.

"Were it not for the gravity of the situation, I would probably laugh, doctor." V said kindly.

Alexander turned to leave, but stopped in his stride.

"I know who you are, you know." Alexander spoke into the darkness. "In fact I'm surprised you took your mask of for the occasion – but I suppose here it is yet another disguise."

V shifted uncomfortably in the shadows. For a second he contemplated escaping through the window, but that would mean abandoning Evey.

_I'd sooner snap his neck._

"Don't be alarmed", Alexander continued. "I knew the second they brought you in, the night that the Parliament blew up. I did not betray my patient's trust then, I'm not about to do so now. You're a hero. From the looks of it, I bet _she_ is too. And heroes are painfully lacking in this country.

Alexander disappeared into the light of the hallway, closing the door before V could even begin reply.

A strange atmosphere lingered in the room now that just V and Evey remained. V dared to touch her hand again, getting comfort from feeling the faint pulse right underneath her skin.

Outside, London did not sleep. It had not slept since the curfew was lifted, so it seemed. Cars rushed by, their engines humming almost rhythmically. The noise of the city echoed in the room on this unseasonably warm night in late September.

It struck V that this could have been a perfect moment. Looking out over the city, enchanted by the lights, right next to the woman he loved. If only she were awake…

He stroked her hair lovingly, stealing another moment of proximity.

_My sleeping beauty. If only I could wake her up with a kiss._

The idea got hold of his mind. A kiss might do the trick. He slowly leaned over her, his lips hovering over hers. He could try. She would never know…

_No._

He pulled away, ashamed. When they would kiss like this… _if_ they would kiss like this – it would have to be her choice, not his.

Instead, he rummaged through the nightstand. In Norsefire days, all he could have expected to find there was a Bible. A censored version of the Bible, even. But now there were a couple of magazines and half a dozen books neatly arranged into it. V thought he recognised one of the covers and took a closer look at the book. His eyes were accustomed to darkness and he could easily make out the title, printed on the front with golden lettres… _The Count of Monte Cristo._ A grin appeared on his disfigured face, creating an interesting contrast.

_Hah! There is no coincidence!_

He flipped open the pages and started to read to Evey, not stopping until sleep came to claim its dominion over him.


	14. A Peculiar Adventure

Chapter 14 – A Peculiar Adventure

Evey Hammond held her hand up against the bright light, sheltering her eyes. The sunrays were pouring over the meadow like liquid gold, nearly blinding her.

Little puffy clouds decorated the bright blue sky. Crickets could be heard in the long green grass. In the distance birds were singing a nature's concerto. A mild breeze was playing with Evey's hair; caressing her skin.

_A perfect day._

Yet Evey felt a faint sense of discomfort – mild anxiety even. Something was wrong here – very, very _wrong_.

_But what?_

Evey closed her eyes. She tried to think, but her thoughts were all mixed up. Nothing made sense at all.

Then in one moment of clarity Evey realised she did not know where she was. Nor did she know how she got here. She did not even remember ever wanting to go here, wherever _here_ was.

Her anxiety grew, bordering on panic. She looked around the meadow as much as the blinding sun allowed her to. There was nothing but green as far as the eye could see. Behind her, just one lone tree stood in the landscape.

Up until now, Evey had not noticed what she was wearing. Yet once she saw, it seemed impossible not to look down – inspecting her white slippers and her carefully tailored white dress.

They were…quite beautiful. But it was a terrible sort of beauty, because it only confirmed Evey's feeling that something was not right.

You see, Evey Hammond had not owned a white dress since she was eight…. _that_ muchshe could remember.

Then, in the corner of her eye she thought she could make out movement near the tree. A figure of a man, she was quite sure of it. A familiar man.

_Gordon?_

No, that simply could not be! Yet Evey found herself running as fast as she could, chasing the shadow that reminded her of her friend.

Out of breath, she reached the tree. There was no sign of the figure, or of any other living thing.

But something at the base of the tree drew Evey's attention. It was a rather large rabbit hole. Evey knelt down, inspecting it. Now that she was closer, she could hear voices. Voices coming right _out of_ the rabbit hole.

_You must be kidding me._

But curiosity got the better of Evey. She laid her ear against the ground and realised the voices were in fact _singing._

Evey sat upright again, seriously doubting her sanity.

Then, suddenly, she recalled what happened. She placed her hand on her chest in panic, pulling down the cleavage of her dress to see the damage…but, no wound could be seen where the bullet had pierced her skin.

_Great. I'm dead and this is purgatory._

There was something about the hole that drew Evey to it, though. Something indescribable yet irresistible. Evey reached into it with her hand. She could feel nothing except what appeared to be a breeze. A part from that, there was no sign of it being anything other than a black void.

But…that was the whole point, of course. A real rabbit hole would _not_ feel like a void. It would be tiny and tight and quite possibly full of rabbit droppings.

Evey decided to take a leap of faith. She tried putting a foot into the hole, and miraculously – it fit. It seemed the hole would become larger and smaller, depending on what was put into it. With some effort, she managed to get the second foot in, too. It was like the earth slowly swallowed her up.

She got stuck when she was halfway down, the earth tightening itself around her waist. Her instinct was to call for help, but in this strange land no-one would come to her rescue. She lifted her hands above her head, as if she was trying to get out of a tight garment. She wriggled around a bit – and sure enough, she came loose.

The earth devoured her and Evey fell into the void, falling for what seemed to be an eternity. Finally she landed hard on her bottom.

_Ouch._

She got up and found herself standing in front of a door. Behind the door, music and singing could be heard. Evey put her ear against the door, but could not make out what exactly was being said or sung. Evey pushed against the door.

_If this is a tunnel of light to take me to the afterlife, it will be one hell of an anticlimax._

Instead of a tunnel, however, Evey Hammond found herself looking at the strangest sight she had seen in her life. On her right hand side, there was Gordon Deitrich, dressed in a Victorian outfit, with _bunny ears_ on his head of all things. He was holding an accordion.

In the middle her parents were standing – but they too looked very odd. They were dressed in an identical fashion and appeared to be literally joined at the hip like Siamese twins, even though they were of opposite genders and clearly not related. They were playing guitar and tam tams, respectively.

On the far left, there was a man she did not recognise, but seemed awfully familiar. He was playing the piano, and was dressed like the King of Hearts.

And to top the madness…they were all still _singing._

_Beautiful Soup, so rich and green,_

_Waiting in a hot tureen!_

_Who for such dainties would not stoop?_

_Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!_

_Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!_

_Beau--ootiful Soo--oop!_

_Beau--ootiful Soo--oop!_

_Soo--oop of the e--e--evening,_

_Beautiful, beautiful Soup!_

_Beautiful Soup! Who cares for fish,_

_Game, or any other dish?_

_Who would not give all else for two_

_Pennyworth only of beautiful Soup?_

_Pennyworth only of beautiful Soup?_

_Beau--ootiful Soo--oop!_

_Beau--ootiful Soo--oop!_

_Soo--oop of the e--e--evening,_

_Beautiful, beauti--FUL SOUP!' (5)_

The song ended and things went a bit quieter. Evey looked at the little group in absolute disbelief.

"Have you all like…gone mad?"

It was then that she was noticed. Gordon's face lit up and he walked up to Evey, hugging her so tightly she very nearly choked.

"So good you could join us, Evey – we were expecting you!" Gordon exclaimed.

"You were?" Evey asked, still recovering from the hug.

"Of course we were! But you're terribly late, my dear. We have very little time!"

Gordon pulled out a gigantic watch, holding it right under Evey's nose. The time was 5 to 12.

"See!" Gordon exclaimed again. He appeared to be very hyper.

_Maybe those Norsefire nutjobs were right after all. There is a Hell. And I'm in it._

Evey turned to her parents.

"Mom, Dad – am I dead?"

"No." Mom said.

"And yes!" Dad continued.

"That depends on your perspective" Mom explained.

"And on your decision" Dad elaborated.

"My decision?" Evey asked.

"Yes" Mom and Dad said together, as one.

"You can choose to melt into oblivion and take the comfort of not being" Mom said cryptically.

"Or you can chose to remember, and become much more than you are" Dad made the riddle complete.

"Remember _what?_ Become _what?_ " Evey asked in frustration.

"Only you know the answers to those questions" Mom replied.

"After all, we are inside _your_ mind" Dad said to make things clear.

"Come quickly dear, we are nearly out of time." Gordon interrupted.

He started pulling Evey towards yet another door. He opened the door and a bright light entered the room. Evey started panicking again. This did indeed look like a tunnel of light, and she did not feel safe at all. She was trying to get away from Gordon, away from the light. But it had a strange pull to it – like it was a black hole, not a light source. Evey was getting dizzy and the world around her was getting blurry. She blinked, but the blurriness did not go away. She felt like she was going to be pulled out of this world quickly. To return…or to pass on. She did not know which of the two, but she was not quite finished here – and Evey Hammond did not like unfinished business. She finally pulled herself free, and ran to the man at the piano. He had not spoken a word while she was there, which was exactly what intrigued Evey.

When she touched his arm, he turned around. Evey's sight was still blurry, but she could make out his eyes quite clearly – piercing and blue.

_Eyes that she knew._

He took her hand and looked at her. His hold seemed to diminish the attraction to the light. He stood up from his piano, yet magically the piano started playing all by itself. The King of Hearts swung her around, inviting her to dance.

What Evey really wanted, were answers. But the music was irresistible. It seemed he could read her mind, though. Or was, in fact, a part of her.

"Some dance to remember, some dance to forget, Evey (6)" he whispered in her ear. "You must decide which you prefer".

"Why do you all speak in riddles"?

"It's not a riddle. It's a simple choice. Just choose. Now. The Bunny is getting anxious".

"I chose to remember" Evey said loudly.

After those words, the King of Hearts swung her around once more. The dance was getting faster, and Evey lost all sense of orientation. She did not know left from right, nor up from down. The room and all the people in it melted into a blur, and soon the blur melted into blackness.

(5) That quotation, of course, if from _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ by Lewis Carroll. In fact, I hijacked quite a bit of his story for this chapter.

(6 _) Hotel California, The Eagles._

Extra note : If you were wondering, yes there are supposed to be Freudian elements in this dream. It's meant to be open for interpretation, so have fun with that if you want!

 


	15. Bad Hair Day

Chapter 15 –Bad Hair Day

V felt fingertips running over his scalp. The feeling was extremely pleasant. In his drowsy state, he saw no harm in it. He merely enjoyed the delightful sensation of being touched, while inhaling the scent of fresh linen. He leaned into the touch, savouring the moment.

There was just this little tingle at the back of his mind, warning him.

_How preposterous_ , his subconscious mind replied to the tingle. After all, how could anything that feels this good be bad?

He might have stayed that way for much longer if a peculiar sound had not reached his ears. His sleepy brain tried to focus, attempting to decipher what it was. It was a human sound, his mind guessed. Female. Short little moans accompanied by heavy breathing. Which could mean the lady was having pleasure of the sexual kind, or she was…in distress.

V jolted upright. He realised he must have fallen asleep while keeping Evey company. Evey - who was now stirring in her sleep. This was a _good_ thing of course, since that meant she had made it through the night.

He had survived far worse injuries than hers, but since his Larkhill days he understood that his biology was not quite… _normal_. It was entirely possible that she was not yet safe. It was that sentiment that caused the wave of panic that engulfed his rationalizations entirely, and shook his very essence.

And then...a dilemma. Should he stay there in case she woke or should he run for help? An impossible choice, so it seemed, that kept him immobile in one spot, frustration mounting. Finally he broke away from himself and rushed through the hallway, in search of Dr. Bartholomew.

He passed another patient. She gave him the oddest looked as he sprinted by.

V reached the elevator, pushing the buttons frantically. The device took its time and V ran out of patience, deciding on the staircase instead.

It looked like he was flying, not running, when he went down the stairs, barely touching the ground as he skipped several steps at a time.

Once he reached the next floor, he stormed out into the other hallway, crashing into a cart with medical supplies. This caused him to lose balance for an instant; he struggled to regain it, lacking all of his usual grace. It also caused some of the supplies to come crashing down on the hard floor and some vials shattered on impact.

Dr. Bartholomew peeked out of one of the rooms, alarmed by the unpleasant noise. V's eyes locked with his the very moment he found his equilibrium once more.

"She's awake" he managed, quite out of breath.

Alexander took this as his cue to get moving, and he followed V as fast as he could. Up they went, running up the stairs again, passing by the same patient – who by now was wondering if she had taken the wrong medication and was hallucinating.

They were just about to burst into Evey's room, when V stopped in his tracks. Alexander looked at him with surprise.

"Wait, I don't want her to see me like this", V breathed.

Dr. Bartholomew actually rolled his eyes.

"Tell me you're _joking_ "

V shook his head, his eyes pleading.

"There should be some bandages in the other room, but do excuse me as I go check on the patient." Alexander said.

V nodded and disappeared into the adjacent room. It looked as it had been unoccupied for some time, although it was still clean and neat. Sure enough, he found some bandages and started wrapping them around his head, feeling remotely ridiculous.

However, he did not get the luxury to ponder over such trivial things, as he could hear Alexander calling out to him with considerable distress.

When V made it into Evey's room, he was faced with a sight he has not _quite_ expected. Evey Hammond, sitting half upright in her bed, was holding a shard in her hand – a shard that she was pressing against Nurse Sally's neck, while holding the poor girl in a vice grip. Pieces of a broken glass could be seen lying on the floor, presumably the origin of Evey's newfound weapon. A weapon it surely was – in her hands anyway – and Nurse Sally was in no way safe. The usually perky blonde was shrieking in terror. Alexander was looking on in fear, afraid to act.

"Come closer and I swear she will not go home in one piece", Evey hissed.

"Violence will not be necessary", V intervened calmly.

Evey looked over to his side, never lowering her weapon. She did not recognise the sight of him, but he knew in his heart…she _must_ have recognised his voice.

Her face changed gradually, as she came to realise who was standing before her.

" _V?_ What on _earth_ are you wearing?" she finally managed.

"I'm afraid I'm having a bad hair day, Evey"

She smiled, tiredly.

"I'm not being held prisoner, then?" Evey asked.

V shook is bandaged head.

"These kind people were trying to help you. You were…hurt, remember?" V said with concern.

"I…I guess so". Evey mumbled as one hand trailed to her chest. Her fingers found blood there, and she suppressed a scream. She released the shard from her hand. Sally did not hesitate for a second, and pulled herself free. She as much distance between her and Evey as the walls would allow. Alexander rushed to the bed, followed on foot by V.

Nurse Sally looked at them bewilderedly. Alexander knew she could be trouble.

"Go! And don't tell a soul. Patient-doctor privilege!" he shouted to her. She took is as a release and disappeared in record time.

Alexander examined Evey's wound, as she was making noises that signaled her discomfort. She looked up at V wearily, forcing a weak smile. She then turned her attention back to Alexander.

"So what's the diagnosis, doctor?" she asked, trying to sound energetic but failing.

"You're lucky. Only the surface of the wound re-opened, your sutures are still intact. However, you should avoid similar stunts in the near future."

Alexander gave Evey a worried look.

"I think I'll manage to keep my cool now that I know you're not evil", Evey joked.

Alexander nodded.

"I'll leave you two to it then. "I'm sure you have lots to catch up on."


	16. A Short Kiss Goodnight

Chapter 16 – A Short Kiss Goodnight

Evey stretched in her bed as Alexander was leaving, causing a sharp pain to hit her chest again, making her cringe. V was filled with dread again.

_I should never have allowed her to go on that insane mission._

Evey interrupted that particular train of thought when she flashed him one of her most fetching smiles. She was eying him up and down, looking slightly amused.

"I do apologise for my outfit, my dear, I was forced to improvise." V sighed.

Evey trailed his face in the air. "You look like.. _Darkman_." (7)

"Darkman?" V inquired.

Evey nodded.

"Hmm – it's a film I snuck off to see with Billy Danes at re-education camp. Clearly, they were not happy. But it was worth the commotion. I think you would have liked the protagonist."

V moved closer, sitting down on the bed next to Evey.

"Dare I ask who Billy Danes is?"

Evey reached for V's hand, squeezing it.

"He's the first boy I kissed – or does that make you jealous?" she asked with some nostalgia.

V tentatively reached out, carefully stroking Evey's hair. The fact that she did not pull away – a thing he still expected her to do every time he touched her – gave him some newfound confidence.

"No, I'm not jealous. Not like _that_ anyway."

Evey looked at him questioningly, signaling that she would not let this one slide without an explanation. V sighed.

"If I'm jealous of anything, my dear Evey, it's not of a teenage boy stealing a kiss from you, but of your memories of the event. You see, I do not know who I gave my first kiss to. I do not recall if it was scary or wonderful. I don't know if I loved her, if she loved me. I don't even know if it ever took place, or if I entered Larkhill without ever being kissed."

"Maybe we can find out" Evey said encouragingly.

"Maybe" he concurred.

They were silent for a few moments, just looking at each other peacefully. Evey's weary fingers reached out for V's face, touching the bandages, exploring the unfamiliar texture.

"It feels different. You _sound_ different, too."

"Would you prefer me to put my mask back on?" V inquired.

Evey shook her head. "No, that's not what I meant at all. I meant the good kind of different."

Evey continued to explore the texture of the bandages. They were thick and irregularly shaped. Evey was sleepy, V could see now, but it did not seem to stop her determination.

Having her touch him like this felt intimate to him – too intimate. For someone who was more wrapped up than a Christmas present, he felt very naked indeed. But her explorations seem to calm _her_ down at least, so he allowed it.

Her hand stopped as she came to the end of one of the bandages. She curled her fingers around it, tightening her grip. V realised with horror that she could just simply take it of, then and there, if she chose to. But while having initiated the action, she stopped in her motions. While V first mistook this hesitation for fear, he came to understand that she was in fact waiting for approval.

_Approval he did not care to give._

"V, I would like to see you" she stated calmly.

"Evey, please don't." he pleaded.

He thought he felt a tug at the bandages but was unsure if it was really her or his paranoid imagination.

"Why not?" Evey persisted.

"Many, many reasons" V replied.

"I will not run. As you can see, I am hardly in a position to do so."

"I'm sure you would not run even if you could. You are too kind for that, but…"

"But _what?_ " she interrupted.

"It would change the way you see me, Evey. In both the literal and the figurative sense. This face itself is a mask. It is not _me._ I do not remember my real face, the one I had before. But…what I do remember is that I am not a victim."

"I never claimed you were." Evey protested.

"Please, let me finish. _I_ did this to me, Evey. Yes…it was they who locked me up and they have paid for it as you well know. But it was _I_ who blasted my way out of there. It was _I_ who ignited the fire that devoured me. It was _I_ who traded my face for my freedom."

Evey looked at him, trying to understand. She was tired enough to make casual conversation a chore, but she was trying to make sense of it. He could see it in her eyes.

"What difference does that make?" she finally dared to ask.

"All the difference in the world. I've seen the people, here, in this hospital. People look at them with horror and pity. I know you would not flinch even if you found me to be horrifying. You are a brave girl. But can you honestly promise you would not pity me?"

V's words hung in the room, quietly, unanswered. Evey slowly released her grip on the bandages – giving V an unspoken answer to his question. Tears were welling up in her eyes, forming two shimmering lines along her cheeks. V felt his heart break. This was clearly not what he intended to accomplish.

"Evey…"

"Don't" she stopped him. "I do not want your pity, either."

He nodded. That much he could understand. She was breathing heavily, fighting back tears, unwilling to show weakness in front of him.

"Would you like to rest a little?" V asked, offering her a way out of this debacle.

Evey nodded. "Yes, I think that is a good idea. I am rather tired."

Her voice was broken, signaling her distress. V started to get up to leave, but she stopped him.

"Will you tuck me in?"

V was surprised at the request, but did not dream of refusing her.

"Of course" he whispered as he sat back down, pulling the white sheets up. They smelled nice. Clean.

It felt right to protect her, to care for her. Even if just with such a small gesture.

"Will I get a goodnight kiss?" she asked, her voice still broken.

V knew that Evey had not made the request lightly. She knew, while it was such a small thing to ask of anyone else, to him it was like climbing the Mount Everest. But she had made the request regardless and V knew by now she would not take it back.

_Why must such small things be so difficult?_

He was shaking while he carefully lowered his head to hers again. Most of his lips were covered by bandage anyway. He had made sure it was the minimum required to breathe and speak. He pressed his lips against Evey's forehead, giving her a brief feel of him.

"Thank you, I will sleep better now"

"Goodnight, Evey" V said as he got up to leave once more. He left in silence, trading the relative comfort of the room for the unpleasantly lit hallway.

Only when he was sure that she could no longer see him, he allowed himself cry.

 

 

(7) A 1990 film by Sam Raimi, with another of my (less known) masked heroes. For interested parties, I'm working on a _Darkman_ fanfic currently. I could not resist the link, which I only really saw after I wrapped him up in bandages!


	17. The Morning After

Chapter 17 – The Morning After

"Are you sure this is entirely necessary?" Evey Hammond asked as V eased her into a standard hospital wheelchair. V did not reply her; the look he gave her said enough – no amount of bandage could cover _that_ up.

They had spent the morning actively avoiding any talk about themselves. They both knew of course, and neither of them was about to step on territory that was currently taboo. So they resorted to keeping themselves busy with smalltalk.

Evey Hammond was aware of every bone in her body…and every stitch, too. Regardless, her pride would never allow her to admit it…not to even mention the fact that she knew how much V hated to see her suffer. Which was strange, considering the man had once tortured her. But she had long forgiven him for that and that any anger over it had subsided.

The act of him helping her had forced them to a physical proximity that felt suddenly strange and unfamiliar.

Just as Evey was making herself comfortable in the wheelchair, V's hands retracted and one of them accidentally touched her shoulder. It sent shivers down her spine. It reminded her, in fact, of a time long past…a time that was more innocent, where one single touch could be more erotic than bearable – simply because it was forbidden and new.

V must have noticed her smile, because she could physically see some of his tension drain from him.

"Inside joke?" he asked.

"Not quite. But a good thought, anyway."

Evey tried wheeling forwards, but was stopped by a sharp pain. Her wound clearly protested against any such motion. V let out a sigh.

"Evey, please let me help you."

"I'm not an invalid, V."

"I'm perfectly aware of that, but truly, is it so difficult to accept a helping hand that is offered with the best intentions?" he asked as he knelt down in front of her wheelchair.

She shook her head. "It's not that. I've just gotten used to surviving on my own. And don't tell me you don't know the feeling."

"I know it enough to know it does a person no good. In fact, you are partly to blame for making me see that. Now…tell me which part of you was burned."

"Excuse me?" Evey was thrown off guard.

V chuckled. He had known the effect of the words before he spoke them, and had clearly said them specifically to end a subject that could potentially lead them dangerously close to their emotions.

"Well, Ms. Hammond, you _are_ in a burn clinic. While I have no desire to set you on fire, it would be wise to at least _pretend_ you had an unfortunate encounter with something very hot - in the interest of not rousing any suspicion. Do you have any preference as to which part of your body you want bandaged?"

"V, this is becoming a farce…"

"Oh, you know I'm an old vaudevillian, dear Evey. Anything to entertain."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"A little," he admitted, but Evey could hear in his voice it was more than just a _little._ "All insanity aside, though – if a farce is what it takes to get you treatment, then a farce we shall have. Now – have you decided yet?"

"I suppose my legs are the most obvious option, since I'm not walking anyway."

"Excellent choice, Mademoiselle" he said and bowed his head. Then he pulled out a roll of bandage, seemingly out of nowhere, like a magician would do.

He was trying to cheer her up, Evey understood, and that meant more to her than even _he_ knew.

Carefully V started to wrap the bandage around her leg, paying attention not to touch her in any way that could be considered indecent. Part of Evey regretted that immensely, the other part was thankful for even this chaste touch. He was not wearing his gloves, and just a little of his skin touched hers – but it was more than she would dare to ask for, especially after the previous night.

Soon – much too soon to Evey's taste – V was finished with his task and her legs were wrapped neatly by bandage.

"So what is our story?" Evey asked.

"I'm sorry, what do you mean?" V asked.

"I mean the story that landed us into having more bandages than there are in an old B-movie about mummies."

"Ah, yes… I took the liberty of doing some research while you were sleeping." V said as he got to his feet again. "Two days before our…debacle with our Norsefire _friends,_ there was a fire at a factory that produces industrial chemicals. There were some casualties, unfortunately, but also many with mild to severe burns."

"And they're our alibi." Evey stated calmly.

"As much as I hate to take advantage of other people's suffering…yes."

"So who are we?" Evey asked.

"Mr.and Mrs. Smith?" V asked, his amusement audible in his voice.

Evey rolled her eyes. "Like I said : a farce!"

V suppressed a small chuckle. He put his gloves back on.

"If those were latex and you'd be a doctor, I'd be worried." Evey joked.

V just got behind the wheelchair and pushed Evey out into the hallway.

"So, are you prepared for the grand tour, Ms. Hammond?"

"I can't wait" she said with some sarcasm.

Evey took in the "scenery" as V wheeled her towards the elevator. It was a clean hospital, and attempts had been made to make it less sterile in appearance – a few pictures on the wall, a plant here and there…but it could not fully get rid of the hospital feeling, especially because of it's typical smell, that lingered everywhere and no amount of decoration could get rid off.

Once they reached the end off the hallway, V dutifully pushed the elevator button.

"V, why did you bring me here?" Evey asked as the elevator made it's way up.

"Well, I hardly could have let you die – I doubt you would have preferred that."

"We know each other too well for these games. You know full well what I meant. Why _here_ and not and emergency room somewhere?"

The elevator's arrival announced itself with a loud _ping._ V wheeled Evey in and pushed the button for the ground floor.

"I have an acquaintance here." V finally managed.

"Ah the plot thickens. The good doctor Bartholomew, I presume?"

"The one and the same."

"Well, are you going to tell me about your mysterious past or will I have to pull it out of you?"

Just then the elevator reached its destination and the door opened with another _ping._ V gratefully made use of the distraction to start moving. His lack of a response irritated Evey, and she was not about to let this one slide. She hit the brakes on the wheelchair, causing it to stop abruptly. Another jolt of pain hit her chest – but that was a small price to pay for an answer.

"Please don't do that, Evey. You'll hurt yourself." V pleaded.

Evey looked up at him stubbornly.

"Very well," V sighed. "This is where I was brought after our November 5th _fireworks._ I suspect some Good Samaritan saw some blood on me, mistook my old scars for fresh burns, and brought me here."

"I'm sorry" a voice sounded "I hate to intrude, but did you said you had an accident with fireworks?"

The woman that had somehow crept up next to them was about 40, sported some burn scars on her neck, was dressed in a rather posh way and looked like that type that _did_ like to intrude on every opportunity that came her way.

"I'm Nancy Stephenson,' the woman said before she gave them the time to answer. She leaned over to shake first Evey's, then V's hand.

"Nice to meet you both."

Evey was trying to figure out to react to it, but the words came out of her mouth before she planned to release them.

"Hi. I'm Margaret Smith. This is my husband…Earl."

"Oh, you're married! Oh well that is a tragedy….well I mean, for this to happen to you both! Fireworks you say?" Nancy continued.

Evey had already decided she did not like this woman. Clearly she was enjoying the _tragedy_ too much. Evey tried to see her as an obstacle that had to be overcome, rather than as a person…for if she would think of her as a person, she surely would be rude.

"Yes. A tragedy, like you say," Evey replied. It was at my niece's birthday party. We don't know exactly what happened, but the fireworks went off early."

"That is _terrible,_ the woman cried out. "I do hope the girl is all right?"

"She is..." Evey stopped in her track. If this woman thrived on misery, she might as well provide it. "I'm afraid she…died. Along with two other children".

Behind her Evey could hear something that resembled a sob…but Evey knew V was cracking up at her story.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Stephenson. My husband was very fond of her. He's not taking it well. She was only eight. And she had a hard life, with her parents dieing and all. We basically raised her."

Evey felt she would soon crack up herself, and covered her face with her hand.

"I'm so sorry dear. But you know time will heal all wounds, even though it does not feel like it now. When my Maximilian died I thought I could not possibly survive. But look at me now, stronger because of it." Nancy rattled on.

"I'm sorry, Madam, but we must be on our way now". V managed to say with a serious tone. "But my wife needs to get her skin grafts examined."

V got Evey's wheelchair back into motion – but Evey could clearly see the woman cringe at the words _skin grafts_ before she was wheeled away.

Once at a safe distance Evey started to giggle.

"Well, so much for the factory fire." V stated dryly.

"I think we discovered the local gossip press." Evey said.

"Indeed we did. But really…. _Earl_?" V feigned shock.

"I was making it up as I went. Maybe the dead children were a bit over the top. But the harpy was just _reveling_ in other people's unhappiness. It was too tempting."

"I'll remember not to make you angry" V chuckled.

They arrived at their destination – the X-ray room. Alexander had asked V earlier to bring Evey there for a check- up. He wanted to make sure the bullet…or rather bullets, for he had seen her previous injury, had not done any damage that had escaped his original assessment. Also her fall might have done her harm.

Alexander opened the door immediately after V knocked. He was clearly expecting them.

"Ah, so you made it after all. I trust no nurses got hurt along the way?" Alexander grinned.

"They are all in one piece, I assure you." V said. Then he turned to Evey. "Do you wish me to stay with you?"

"I think I'll be fine of my own. But thank you…for caring so much." She reached for his gloved hand and squeezed it. She was sure there must have been a small smile at least, behind the bandages.

"I'll be back before you know it. Don't miss me too much." Evey added.

But as soon as Alexander wheeled her into the room and closed the door, she became acutely aware that it was in fact _her_ who missed _him_ as soon as he disappeared from her range of vision.


	18. Memory Lane

Chapter 18 – Memory Lane

The odd mechanical sound of the X-Ray machine did not bother Evey Hammond at all. Nor did the examination for that matter. On that particular morning, she took comfort in tangible things in the strangest of ways. The dull ache in most of her body – the sharp ache around her chest – she liked them, in a way.

It was not masochism, she knew, but somehow her pain tied her to the moment – it made her feel more _real_ than she had in a long time.

She remembered the yearly school check-up – in days before Norsefire came to power. That too, she had once liked – because it was a break from the daily routine of school and books and homework. It was almost like a field trip, and in her youthful enthusiasm she had taken great interest in all the fascinating, unknown devices used by the physician.

One could even say Evey had been particularly fond of doctors – she had admired their ability to help, to heal. Briefly she had even considered becoming one. That all changed, of course, when her brother got ill and doctors proved not to be infallible – but mere humans, after all.

Evey had been remembering snippets from her childhood a lot lately. Strange, as she had hardly thought of it in years. Now little bubbles of memories were pressing hard against the surface, struggling to get free.

Some would argue that those who dwell on the past are not connected to the present. But it was not so for Evey – her memories anchored her to this world. They were like the pain in her limbs. They reminded her that she was alive; that she was built of flesh and blood and skin – that she was a woman, not merely an idea.

Alexander had been respectful, as expected, despite her blatant state of undress. The respect, she suspected, was not only coming from his professional conduct. She had noticed in him a sort of reverence for V; but also for her. They were his heroes, she understood – and while she might question his _taste_ in heroes – she knew the need to look up to someone all too well. Even V did it, in his solitude, with his little shrine for Valerie Page.

Alexander was thorough – too thorough perhaps - in his apparent urge to take care of her well-being. There was little of her body he left unexamined.

After all was done and Evey was properly dressed again, they sat in silence, waiting for the X-rays to be developed. Had Evey said it was an uncomfortable silence, it would have been in lie. They merely sat together, waiting, like old-time friends – for a good 15 minutes.

Finally, a nurse came in and handed Alexander a yellow folder containing the X-rays. As soon as she vanished again, he held them against the light – revealing the inner most parts of Evey – her bones, her skull, some shadows of her organs. Most of them got an approving look from Doctor Bartholomew, but one picture – that of her chest, got a second look.

He broke the silence that had lasted for an eternity and it felt to Evey almost like the breaking of some unspoken truce.

"You were luckier than you can imagine." He said. "The things you have been through…I'm surprised you are still alive. You have a cracked rib, which will hurt for considerable time, but is otherwise harmless. From what I have seen your wound is healing well. Your older wound seems to be doing well, too, considering it was left mostly untreated and was cauterized."

He sighed; knowing preaching to her would do him no good. Then, bravely, he decided to try anyway.

"Miss Hammond – I can merely heal you, not tell you how to live your life. But know this – human bodies are not meant to take this kind of abuse. You were shot twice in what – less than a month? Between which you managed to crash through a floor as well, from what I heard. I know I'm out of line here but there is so much good you can do. People still remember you. You can help them more by being alive than dead."

Alexander ran his hand through his blonde curls, uncertain if his words had any impact at all. Evey was touched by his words – she truly was – and she knew they were true. But things were complicated, all always. Being a vigilante had become her mission in life – if she would stop now, then what would be left of her?

"I wanted to thank you," she finally spoke, surprising Alexander with her words.

"You're quite welcome. I hope you did not take offense…"

"That's not what I mean," Evey cut him short. "I understand you're the one who saved V's life?"

"Ah…that. So he told you?" Alexander asked reluctantly.

"Not in so many words. I was hoping you could tell me more."

Alexander sighed. "You realise there is such a thing as doctor-patient privilege?"

"You realise I have not exactly been following rules lately?"

"There is not really much to tell, Miss Hammond. Besides, would you not rather hear it from him?"

Evey looked around the room, as if she would find her answers there. But none came, of course. The man sitting before her was the only source of information.

"I think there are things he'd never tell me…even if he wanted to." she finally said.

"Like I said, not much to tell. He was delivered on our doorstep, wounded. I don't know who brought him here. It didn't take me long to see that he was hurt by bullets, not fire – not that time anyway. Because of the timing…because of his face, I suspected who he was. I treated him, discretely. He was in a coma for about…nine weeks I think. I didn't think he'd make it. Then one day he opened his eyes for a few minutes – then slipped back into unconsciousness. A few hours later all that was left in that room was an empty bed. I never saw him again until he brought you here."

Evey tried to picture V in this room, or one like it. Again she craved something tangible. She wished she could have touched his hand, smelled the sheets that surely had his scent, offered him food even if he'd refuse it. In her mind an alternate reality was forming. In this reality she was standing guard in the darkness, at the side of the man she loved. But reality seeped in quickly and her late-night conversation of the other day begged another question, one that popped out even before she wished to speak it.

"You said…you have seen what he looks like then?"

Alexander nodded.

"How bad is it?" she asked, barely finding the courage to ask _that_ particular question.

"I won't lie to you. It's pretty bad." Alexander replied.

Evey shuffled her feet, uncertain how to react to something she had known in her heart for a long time – but had only now become an inescapable reality.

"You love him very much, don't you?"

Evey nodded in silence.

"Then it's not easy, nor for you nor for him. I think the more you love, the harder it is to deal with, even though one might expect otherwise. I've seen many relationships here break up over this. But I've seen how you two interact. I think you just might make it."

"I don't think he can bear the thought of me feeling sorry for him" Evey finally managed, her voice breaking up.

"Then don't feel sorry for him – but try to admire his determination to live, instead."

Evey forced a smile, while in reality she was holding back tears. There was no quick fix for this problem.

_How can I ask him to trust me if I can't even trust myself?_

"Come, we should get you back into bed." Alexander added kindly. "You should not exert yourself too much yet." He helped her back into her wheelchair, making sure she was comfortable.

"If it helps – he has the most amazing eyes I've ever seen. It's like they can see straight into your soul." Alexander said.

A little bell started ringing at the back of Evey's mind. Softly at first, but growing more persistent.

"Blue eyes?" she asked excitedly.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Alexander replied.

It was at that moment that Evey Hammond realised her recent trip down memory lane had not been a random even. Nor had her crazy dream been arbitrary.

_There is no coincidence._

All this had a reason, and she was starting to suspect what it was. But before she could be certain of anything – she had to get out of this hospital.


	19. Days in a Nutshell

Chapter 19 – Days in a Nutshell

More than week had past since Evey was first admitted, and to V's surprise she had been on her best behaviour for the last few days. There had been no more incidents with the medical staff, she had been resting according to doctor's orders and she had not even protested to using the wheelchair.

V had been vaguely suspicious of the whole thing at first. It would not have surprised him if this Evey – an Evey that reminded him of himself – would have lulled them into a false sense of security, before disappearing from her bed in the nighttime.

Yet, this had not happened. Her commitment to getting well seemed to be genuine.

V had even left the hospital on occasions. First briefly, then for longer periods of time. While he hated leaving her alone – hospitals did not agree with him. The wounds from Larkhill simply ran too deep to be forgotten. When he was finally outside, it was like he could breathe again after someone had tried to strangle him.

Every time he returned from his short outings, Evey seemed to be as well-behaved as she was when he had left her, and so he let his guard down. He allowed himself a longer trip one afternoon, back to his old home in the Shadow Gallery.

It was strange, indeed. The feel of the place had changed. It was _hers_ now more than it was his and he felt almost like an intruder, sneaking through someone else's house.

It did not take him long to realise, though, that she had kept his things mostly separate. She still slept in the guest bedroom, surrounded by a wall of books. She has used the living quarters, yes, but there was no evidence of any kind that suggested she had invaded his own personal room – a room he had never even shown her.

He had not really spent time there after he first returned; his focus had been on Evey. He had slept on the couch, to be closer to her while still respecting her privacy. But now he gladly took advantage of this occasion.

His bed, his desk, his own personal collection of rare artifacts – it was all untouched, presumably since the day she had thought him to be dead. She had kept it all in place, like some mothers keep their children's bedrooms long after they leave the house.

Only his wardrobe was missing a few items – the mask, the cloak – the things she had used for her own transformation into "V". After closer inspection he noticed that a shirt or two were missing too.

He would have thought nothing more of it, had he not found them in her room shortly after.

He allowed himself this small invasion of her privacy. He took his own garments in his hands, cherishing them. He knew why they were here, and the reason broke his heart. She has brought them here to hold on to him, to find comfort in touching them – perhaps even recognising his scent, which surely must have lingered on them for at least a little while. In her most private of places she had always wanted him near her. That simple but unmistakable sign of her love for him touched him deeply, but also frightened him.

_Where do we go from here?_

These feelings between them had become a force of nature, which was difficult to contain. Soon, he knew, something would break. One of them would lose the so carefully exercised self-control…and things would be different forever.

_Who will save us from ourselves?_

He left the room, leaving his shirts there as she would have left them. He did not wish to leave the Shadow Gallery without saying "hello" to Valerie. Her pictures were the closest thing he'd had to a human companion for years.

Evey had kept the roses alive, for which he was eternally grateful. The shrine was as beautiful as ever. He sat down and looked at the old movie poster, the eyes of his old "friend" looking back at him from the paper.

Often he had wished that he could have met her when she was still alive, but never more than he did right now. He imagined them as friends, even now, having a cultured conversation and perhaps, on occasion, even a little chat about the ladies.

_Ah, Valerie. If only you could give me some much-needed advice on how to handle women._

Valerie's picture, of course, stayed as silent as ever – but he could feel her presence as much as he did many years ago in his cell. Her strength and determination added to his own. If she could fight for love…well, then he would not dishonour her memory by giving up so easily.

He left, as silently as he had come – but not before taking some supplies with him.

\- - -

Back in the hospital he found Evey's room empty. He was filled with a feeling of dread, suspecting that she had finally seen her opportunity to run – and taken it.

Their relationship had not exactly blossomed since their late-night conversation of a few days past. Understandably, as they were facing an obstacle that neither of them felt confident to overcome. There had been times that the urge to bridge the gap between them had been unbearable. He just wanted to take her in his arms, regardless of the consequences.

But in the end, he was simply too much of a gentleman to approach her without her express permission.

So when he did not find her that afternoon, he feared she might have given up on them altogether, and disappeared.

Great was his surprise when he found her in the cafeteria downstairs, in the company of none other than Eric Finch. They were chatting away over tea with cake and something – V could not hear what – had made her burst out into laughter.

It was good to see her happy again, but there was a dull sense of pain underneath this sentiment – the regret that she never seemed to be able to laugh like that in his company.

And then there was this other worry. The _business partnership_ between Evey and Finch bothered him greatly and there was no way of knowing if they were not already planning another mission – one in which Evey would risk her life once more.

Yet nothing seemed to point in that direction so far, and when Evey finally saw him she motioned for him to come over excitedly.

"Look, we have a visitor!" she exclaimed.

"So I see," V said, remaining polite. He shook Finch's hand and sat down next to him. Evey was stuffing herself with cake as if she had not eaten for days. Her appetite never ceased to amaze him.

"V, we really need to get out of here soon." she said between bites. "We ran into Nancy again and she got it into her head that I look like Evey Hammond."

"I assured her the resemblance is striking, and people mistake "Margaret" here for Evey all the time." Finch added.

"Oh and Eric is now my brother. The non-dead one." Evey said. "But as fun as it is making up these nonsense stories, I have a bad feeling about it."

Soon the conversation went back to the previous subject – Eric Finch's adventures as an Inspector. Apparently, it had been one of these stories that had made Evey laugh so abundantly. It involved chasing down what turned out to be a cat. But V was only really half-listening, and while Evey tried to involve him in the conversation, he felt quite poignantly out of place.

He excused himself, and disappeared from sight.

\- - -

All through that night, V's mind would not let him sleep. He was angry at himself for dwelling on things that could not be changed – yet, he could not stop himself from doing so.

He wished to share simple moments with Evey – _normal_ moments. But the reality of the matter was, that he was anything but a normal man and that their relationship – if one could be optimistic enough to call it a relationship – had not exactly started in normal circumstances, either.

He would always he the one who was on the outside, looking in. Evey, on the other hand, still had one foot in the _real_ world – the world where people found happiness in ordinary matters, where people did all the things he could not.

To make himself believe that he could ever provide Evey with a normal life – to make _her_ believe that – would be utterly unfair. It simply would not happen. That was part of the reason why he had remained "dead" for so long.

Yet there was another part of him that allowed him to hang on to his dream. A part of him that was selfish, perhaps, and proud. _It will turn out all right, somehow,_ the voice in his mind said. _She waited for you, did she not?_

And already he could feel his self-control slipping, exactly as he had feared.

\- - -

The following day was largely uneventful, but he took pleasure in simply spending some time with Evey. She had asked him to read to her and he had gladly obliged.

It had been their past-time for hours on end, and when he finished _The Count of Monte Cristo_ , he took to reading to her from the newspaper. It was not his idea – she had insisted. Personally, he was afraid that it would get her back on the streets playing vigilante again.

A lot of things had changed since the Revolution, and not all for the better.

There were voices that were calling for the curfew to be re-installed. Many articles spoke of crimes. A known bank robber had escaped from prison and had kept himself hidden in a grocery store. There had been a great uproar and the police had kept the store surrounded for hours – only to find out he had somehow magically disappeared, once they finally did storm in.

Another article talked about a violent, unresolved murder of an elderly woman. Another one – one he did not dare to read out loud to Evey – was talking about the vigilante and the fact that no-one had seen him for well over a week.

Somewhere along the line Evey had fallen asleep and V was grateful for that at least; for it gave him an excuse to hide the newspaper from her.

She looked so peaceful when asleep. As innocent as she had been when he first met her. While consciously he knew that the beautiful woman in front of him had become as tough and as dangerous as he was, he still could not shake the overwhelming need to protect her.

\- - -

A few hours later, when the sun was already setting, Evey Hammond was still peacefully asleep. V deemed it safe to leave her alone for a little while.

In the cover of darkness, he could wear his facial prosthesis – the one he'd worn when he first met Eric Finch. The wig, the fake beard, but mainly the artificial skin would never pass for real in the scrutiny of daylight. But in the nighttime he could sometimes, when there was a need, mingle among other mortals without attracting unwanted attention.

He had not decided where to go upon leaving, and soon he was drawn into random streets, enchanted by his beloved London. Nightlife had blossomed after curfew had been lifted and the streets were still filled with people who were out enjoying the evening. Restaurants were doing well, as well as bars, and through the windows V could see people enjoying themselves over a drink or a meal. Nightclubs had returned to the area, as well, and every now and then a group of loud, scantily clad youngsters would pass him on the street. While most shops were closed by now, some night shops had returned to the area. Whatever else could be said about post-Revolution London, at least it was _alive._

Colour, too, had returned to London and while most of the people he saw where still Caucasian, immigrants had gradually been returning to the city, bringing with them a variety of cultures.

Finally he was drawn in by the reddish light of a Chinese market. He took pleasure in walking through the lanes, feasting his eyes on all the exotic and strange products that decorated the place. Some of the foods he did not even recognise, and there was no English translation to help him figure out what indeed they were.

He was like a child released in a candy shop – not because he had suddenly grown gluttonous, but because this place embodied one of the goals of his battle against Norsefire. And he found it absolutely stunningly beautiful.

Behind the strange foods, the kitschy vases and other peculiar nicnacs he found an interesting selection of garments. Most were Chinese dresses, in silky red or blue or yellow, decorated by beautiful flowers. One piece of clothing in particular drew his attention though. From what little he knew of the matter, he judged it was not traditional Chinese clothing. Rather, it was some strange merge between Eastern and Western culture. It was a dressing gown of sorts, made of red silk, abundantly decorated with birds and flowers. It looked…luxurious. And V could already imagine it on Evey.

_Yes. A present. A present would be good._

He carefully took it off its hanger and tried to explain to one of the staff that he would like a gift box for it, which was no easy feat because the woman only spoke a few words of English. But it is as they say – where there's a will, there's a way.

\- - -

When V finally returned to the Bartholomew Resort, it was close to midnight. He had not intended on staying out so long, but the city had simply enchanted him.

Even at this late hour he found Evey awake – and talking on the phone. As soon as she saw him coming in, she quickly ended the conversation and greeted him kindly.

V was now convinced that something was indeed up. Had Evey been any other woman of her age, he would have believed that she might be calling a friend even at this time of night. But Evey Hammond had no friends to call at midnight. If she had felt the need to call someone now, then surely she was plotting something. And while she was still radiating innocence, he knew her too well to fall for _that._

Never mind that now, though. He would find out soon enough what it was. He sat down next to her on the bed, debating with himself is this was not too much of a breach of her personal space. She did not object to it though, her demeanor indicated that she even welcomed it.

Nevertheless, he felt suddenly silly coming back with a gift. It was more something a schoolboy would do, he thought, and it might not be fitting between the two of them. But it was too late to take it back, now, because Evey had already seen the box.

"I…got you something, Evey." He said hesitantly. "I do hope it's not inappropriate."

The look on her face answered with a "no" to that question. Excitedly she unwrapped the ribbon and opened the gift box. Her hands found the red silk in it, and she took out the dressing gown, holding it as if she were afraid to damage it.

"If you do not like it I can always bring it back," V added, fueled by his insecurity.

"What? No. I love it. But you should not have. It must have cost a fortune."

"I can afford it. Besides, I thought it would suit you. Something more…cheerful to wear than the hospital gowns here."

Evey sighed and bowed her head. V sensed that she was about to say something he would not like, and his hunch turned out to be correct.

"V, I'm not staying."

"Evey, you're not well yet…"

"Yes I am. Or I will be, soon. In my place you'd already be jumping from one rooftop to the next. And don't try to tell me otherwise."

"Can't we at least talk about this?" V tried, knowing it was probably in vain.

Evey let out another sigh. "Finch is picking me up in three hours. Not many people will notice at that time of night. I'm sorry, V, but it's out of your hands."

_Ah, so this was it then. Her little plot with Finch. I've been blind not to see it._

He had imagined this night differently, but in the end he could only play the cards that were dealt to him. He knew that any attempt to change her mind would be futile - so he merely resigned to her decision.


	20. A Chauffeur for the Lady

Chapter 20 - A Chauffeur for the Lady

Eric Finch drew the collar of his coat up. It was early October by now, and it was starting to get cold, especially at this time of night. It would take a good three hours before London would be waking up and rush hour would begin.

The car was a Volvo – a rental – he knew better than to use his own, or one from the bureau for that matter.

He'd had doubts, yes, when Evey asked him to get her out of the clinic prematurely. But he knew better than to deny her a request, partly because he felt responsible, but mostly because he knew that she would find a way even without his help. And such a way might be more dangerous to her well-being altogether.

So there he was, awaiting her arrival, being temporarily degraded from a police inspector to a simple chauffeur.

He looked up when he heard the sound of the doors behind him. Evey was walking – surely she had insisted on that. Her clothes were far to light to protect her from the morning chill and she wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to get warm. V followed her by mere inches, standing behind her as her faithful protector. He was still in his "civil' dress, and bandages were where his mask would usually be. Finch could see how much V loathed being without that mask – indeed, one need not be a police inspector to figure _that_ out And yet, he did it willingly, so he would not jeopardize Evey by being seen in her presence. Eric Finch could not help but admire the man.

And here they were again, the three of them, in the cover of darkness like common criminals.

How unfair, he thought, that these people would never get the credit they deserved for what they did for the Revolution. The _idea_ of them was very much alive, yes, but the actual man and woman before him – they were the unsung heroes of the Revolution, and it as way, its victims. Their real lives, their imperfections – the public did not care to hear about that. For heroes are supposed to be superhuman and infallible. And they were neither.

Evey greeted him warmly, much more so than he expected…and he wondered if something in her had mellowed since the return of V. The possibility was plausible, in any case.

V greeted him, too, politely as ever. Though Finch suspected this was mainly for Evey's benefit. Had he been in V's place…well, he would have had no liking for Inspector Eric Finch.

They got into the car in silence; the only thing disturbing the nighttime peace was the gentle roar of the old engine as it was brought to life.

It was about 15 minutes into their journey that Finch became aware of a black car behind them. He thought nothing of it at first – after all, cities as large as London never _truly_ sleep. But when it was still there three blocks further, Finch's instincts as a policeman started to kick in.

He decided to put it to the test, and he diverted from his planned route – heading back to where they came from. Sure enough, the car followed.

His maneuver did not go unnoticed.

"Eric, is something wrong?" Evey's voice sounded from the back seat. Finch could see her face in the rear view mirror. It reflected an expression of fatigue and worry.

"I believe we are being followed. In fact, I'm quite sure of it."

"See? I told you I had a bad feeling in the hospital. Something is definitely up." Evey's voice sounded again, almost victorious this time.

"You knew this?" It was V's voice that sounded this time. "You knew this and you did not tell me?"

Finch could see them in the rear view mirror. It was almost as he was the witness of a domestic squabble. And it felt somehow…inappropriate. So he decided not to intervene.

"I'm a big girl now, V. Besides I wasn't sure until now."

"I could have helped." V protested. He took a few deep breaths, clearly forcing himself to calm down.

"Do you think someone figured out who we are?" V finally asked, sounding more rational again.

"No", Evey sighed. "I think someone figured out who _I_ am."

Even though V's face was hidden from sight, as always, Finch could tell he was thinking.

"It was that woman from the clinic, wasn't it…what her name, Nancy?" V inquired

"I don't know,V. That's the point. I didn't want you to _interrogate_ her while she might be innocent. You know…sentence first--verdict afterwards. (8)"

"I hate to interrupt, kids, but the car is still there. Any preference on how to handle it?" Finch finally dared to speak.

"Can we shake it?" Evey asked.

"I can try." Finch said, his tires already screeching as he took an unplanned, sharp turn left into an adjacent street.

On the back seat, V and Evey lost their balance, crashing into each other. Evey moaned in pain as still unhealed scar tissue was being stretched. Finch raced out of the street, taking another sharp turn.

"This is ridiculous." V hissed. His hand was already reaching for the car door…Finch could see it clearly. He was going to jump out and handle matters _his_ way. But before his fingers reached the handle, Evey grabbed his wrist and held it securely.

"Don't," she said adamantly. "I don't think they know who you are. Let's not give them _that_ advantage."

V nodded, resigned, allowing her to draw his hand away from the door.

As Finch kept driving he noticed the street behind them was empty. Surprisingly, the car seemed to be nowhere in sight.

"I think we lost them." He said, disbelieving it himself.

"No, Mr. Finch, I don't believe we have." V commented.

"V's right," Evey said. "That was too easy. Stop the car."

Finch obliged, and he parked not far from there.

"Ok…so, two options." Evey thought out loud. "Either they fled as soon as they knew we noticed them…"

"Or they are still out there watching somewhere." V added. Evey nodded. She peered into the night, but was unable to detect any movement.

"Well, we can't risk them finding out about the Shadow Gallery." Evey added. She got out of the car and the cool night air entered the vehicle, sending shivers up Finch's spine.

Once outside, she continued to look around, but her attempts appeared to be in vain.

Then she leaned in over the car door, looking in again.

"V, got a plan B?" she asked.

"There should still be unused subway tunnels around here".

"Won't that lead them home?"

V shook his head. "Not necessarily. Even if they follow us there…that is my domain. And with so many tunnels, they cannot possibly know where exactly we are heading. And if they follow, I'll make sure they never reach their destination."

"All right then;" Evey agreed.

V was already getting out of the car, as swiftly as always.

"Finch, you too." Evey commanded.

Eric looked at her in disbelief.

"I'm not leaving you here. For all we know they want you, too."

Finch did not like it for a bit. She was right of course. But no-one said he had to like it.

The tunnels "around here" turned out to be well over half a mile away…and it felt much longer still. The night could be an ally, but also a foe – the same blanket of darkness that protected them from being seen, could just as easily keep any enemies hidden.

He kept his hand on his pistol, perpetually in fear that gunfire would break the silence of night and hit one of them before they could even move.

V too had his hands on his weapons. Somewhere along the line – Finch was not exactly sure when – V's knives had reappeared around his waist.

The much-feared attack never came. The night remained as quiet as ever and eventually they reached the entrance of one of the old abandoned tube stations. (9)

It was not _open_ of course, but V had a way of making his way into places. It was a simple lock that held the chains on the entrance together – after all, not many people would try to break into an old subway tunnel. V picked the lock with amazing speed, and a whole new world was opened to Eric Finch.

This was one of the truly old stations. From the looks of it, it must have been built in the late 1800's. It breathed a grandeur that new stations simply lacked – built to please the eye as much as for practical use.

Finch could imagine V in this environment – very much so in fact.

He saw he was not the only one who was awe-struck. Evey Hammond had walked up to what once had been a platform, admiring the century-old structure with a certain enchantment.

"It's beautiful" she exclaimed, forgetting for a moment the predicament that brought them down here.

V went to stand behind her, admiring the old underground structure as well.

"Noble life demands a noble architecture for noble uses of noble men." (10) His voice echoed as he took Evey's hand. Again, Eric Finch felt like he was infringing on a private moment he should not be privy to.

He did not get much time to think about it though, for V was already jumping on the long-abandoned track, helping Evey to climb down. Finch too, made the jump, his body complaining against this sort of abuse.

The dark shaft went on for miles, and was not meant to be crossed on foot. Finch could barely see anything in the darkness – but V, who was leading the way, seemed to have no trouble at all seeing in the dark. Every now and then, Finch could hear Evey let out a moan – a signal of her battle-scarred body that it had not entirely healed yet.

After a while the tunnel became more nightmarish. Not like a nightmare involving monsters, but rather like those stress-driven dreams that keep you trapped in a maze with no way to get out.

They had passed another station, but V chose not to exit at this point – even though there was no sign of them being followed. So again, they walked further down the pitch-black tunnel. Even in his frustration, Finch did not protest. He knew that this strange, nameless, faceless man was very good at survival. And surviving was something that Eric Finch planned to do.

Then finally, Eric's retinas were touched by light again. They had arrived in another station. Part of the structure had collapsed and the newly rising sun had begun to pour its golden light in through the holes. V was carrying Evey in his arms – in the darkness, Finch had not realised that she was no longer walking on her own. Only the light revealed that she was peacefully asleep in the arms of her mystery man.

"Your stop is here", V whispered, trying not to wake Evey. "We're not far from Piccadilly Circus. Rush hour is beginning. You can disappear in the crowd."

Finch nodded. "And you?"

"We still have way to go. But rest assured, Inspector, I will bring her home safely".

"Good luck," Finch said, his words sounding a bit silly to him before he even spoke them. As V disappeared into another tunnel, Finch knew that luck had nothing to do with it. And as for Evey Hammond…well, she was in far more capable hands for the rest of her journey.

 

 

(8) _Sentence first--verdict afterwards._ This again comes from _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ by Lewis Carroll. The words are spoken by the Queen of Hearts.

(9) Not a quote or anything, but London does indeed have a whole range of abandoned tube stations.

(10) The full quote is _Noble life demands a noble architecture for noble uses of noble men. Lack of culture means what it has always meant: ignoble civilization and therefore imminent downfall._ _– Frank Lloyd Wright_


	21. Un-Sweet Seduction

Chapter 21 – Un-Sweet Seduction

V was distracted by the sound of _singing._ He wondered for a minute if it was merely his imagination, but there it was again.

He got up from his computer – yes, his own personal room had even _that_ particular tool of modernity – and peered out into the Shadow Gallery.

He could see nothing, at first, but he could easily recognise Evey's voice anywhere, although he was not yet capable of deciphering the words.

He left his room, approaching with slight hesitation. The feeling of insecurity he had around her had still not vanished, even after all this time.

Her voice was clear now, strong and bright, and V secretly enjoyed this small pleasure. He did not know the song. A more modern tune, perhaps, that V had not yet added to his collection. Whatever it was, it was positively… _magical._

If he thought Evey's song was enough to enchant him, then nothing…nothing, could have prepared him for the sight of her.

Evey Hammond stood in the television room, seemingly oblivious to his presence, wearing nothing but the silk dressing gown he had given her. She must have just left the shower, too, because her hair was damp and she was rubbing it with a towel.

_And it was the most beautiful sight in the world._

"You know," Evey said as she turned around and dropped the towel "It's really not polite to sneak up on people like that."

_Ah. She had known he was there all along. Clever girl._

"I do apologise, Evey."

She was in a good mood, fortunately, and he could tell. After the little adventure last night, they had spent most of the day sleeping. Clearly it had done her some good.

Evey plopped down on the couch, quite unceremoniously but completely at ease. The dressing gown shifted, sliding off her right leg and revealing most of it.

Oh, what sweet torment this was. How tempting to reach out. But was it simply her being at ease with him…or was it deliberate seduction?

"V, won't you join me?" her voice interrupted his train of thought.

"Yes, of course," he said.

He sat down next to her on the couch, making sure the distance between them was still… _respectable._ His hand trailed to his wig, slightly readjusting it. This little _tic nerveux_ had manifested more often around her, and while he found it utterly silly he could not stop himself from doing so. His little, pathetic attempt to look his best around her.

She noticed. Of course she noticed – how could she not?

"You look fine, V" she said. There was a kindness in her voice that he knew to be genuine.

She was honest, yes, of that he was sure. However, this side of her was unfamiliar to him and he did not know how – or if – to reciprocate.

"Did you find something on Nancy Stephenson?" Evey asked, changing the subject.

_Regretting her forwardness now, is she?_

"No, nothing." V said as casually as he could manage. "That being said, I have not used all my resources yet."

Evey nodded. She reached for something next to the couch. V could hear the sound of the glass before she lifted it.

Clearly, Evey had found his collection of wines in his absence. Not that he'd ever protest to her drinking it. Not that he'd ever mind. She could have whatever her heart desired. If it was in his power to give it to her, he would provide it. Wine, certainly, was but a little thing.

And yet…there was something about that wine. Something that made it more than a _little_ thing. When she brought the glass to her lips, he could not stop watching. That movement – that simple, everyday movement of another human being consuming a drink – was suddenly impossible to break away from. Evey Hammond's lips had an attraction that was far greater than that of any magnet.

The lady in question seemed oblivious to the inner turmoil she was causing in V. She switched the TV on casually, stretching a little on the couch – a movement that bared even more skin on her legs.

_God. Can't she see what she is doing?_

Evey flipped through the channels. There were many now. The fall of Norsefire had caused a boom in the media industry. _Big Brother: The Return_ was on – not exactly one piece of "culture" V welcomed back. There was a comedy show V did not know the name of, but found tolerable to watch. Yet another channel showed an interview with a Japanese pop star who was allowed to tour in England for the first time in her career.

V, however, could not care less about the telly. His eyes focused on Evey's hand. He was suddenly fascinated by the way her fingers moved on the remote control. The way her skin danced as the muscles below moved, had suddenly become the most intriguing thing in the room.

She had beautiful hands, he realised…and he could not fathom that he had not noticed it before. Only now, after so many years, did he _truly_ understand a specific part of Valerie's letter. Yes, V could now clearly see how Valerie must have found her girlfriend's wrists beautiful. How these little patches of skin could draw the eye.

"… _in recent polls, New Labour have won in popularity… and in other news, police have arrested two suspects in the case of Rose Atkins, the elderly woman who was found brutally murdered in her London home three nights ago…"_ The newsreaders voice pulled V out of his dream world, if only briefly. Evey had switched the TV to the news – the only thing on television that V watched diligently – but even that could not distract him now.

Behind his mask, unseen to Evey, V's eyes were being drawn to her once more. They had found their way back to her lips. Then, slowly, they trailed down from the lips to her chin, continuing the journey to her delicate neck, going lower still along her collarbones until his eyes finally came to stop at her cleavage.

Although he thought it utterly beneath him, although he was deeply ashamed of it – he found himself admiring her chest. Her small yet perfect breasts were barely covered by the dressing gown, and her perk nipples could unmistakably be seen pressing against the silk from the inside.

V's breathing grew more erratic, his fingers started twitching, and it was next to impossible not to touch the woman before him.

"V, are you quite all right?" Evey asked as she switched off the television. His strange behaviour had not gone unnoticed.

"Yes, of course" V replied. But even as he said it, he heard that the tone of his voice contradicted the words he spoke. No, he definitely did not sound _quite all right._ His breathing had still not calmed down, either.

_Sultry_. He sounded sultry, of all things. And it embarrassed him deeply.

"You don't sound all right," she stated.

_How very astute of her._

"Are you sure you're not ill, V?" she asked, moving closer. The object of his desire, so close yet unreachable.

_This is torture. She is torturing me._

She placed her hand on the Fawkes forehead as if in an attempt to take his temperature. She must have realised the complete pointlessness of her act, because her arm lowered itself mere seconds after it had touched the mask.

"Sorry," she apologised, "old habits and all that."

V refrained from speaking, tilting his head down in shame and in a vain attempt to distance himself from her.

"V, won't you tell me what's wrong?" she persisted.

She sat before him, those big brown eyes of her looking at him innocently. And it was somehow… _wrong_. In that moment, he did no longer believe in her innocence.

_She knows what she is doing. No-one is that innocent. No-one is that naïve._

He felt anger welling up. Anger at the thought that she was purposefully tormenting him. Teasing him with things he could never have.

_She should know better. She should know how utterly unbearable it is._

He just wanted it to stop.

He grabbed her by her shoulders a little harder than he had intended. He did not wish to hurt her, but the damage was done before he could comprehend what had happened. She shrank away from his touch, her face filling with an expression of dread.

He regretted it the moment he did it, of course, but it could not be reversed. That look in her eyes was one he had never hoped to see…not as a result of his touch. In fact, it's what he always wanted to avoid.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Evey, he stammered, barely capable of speech. "But don't you see what you are doing to me? I cannot bear this. I _cannot._ "

He pulled away from her.

She reached for him.

"Shhhh, it's all right" she whispered. She drew him into her embrace, her arms locking behind his back. The chin of his mask came to rest on her shoulder, fitting onto it perfectly. Her left hand reached up to stroke the hair of his wig, offering some small comfort.

Then – a small yet unmistakable sting in his neck.

It was a needle, of that he was sure. He was poked and prodded sufficiently in Larkhill to know the feeling.

He pushed his beloved away, forcefully. Evey landed on the floor, propelled by his superior strength.

Sure enough, she was holding a syringe in her hand.

"What….what treachery is this?" V managed to say as he was already starting to get giddy.

"I'm sorry, V. I truly am" Evey said as she picked herself up from the floor. "Unfortunately, it needed to be done."

She reached for him again, and he lacked the strength to escape from her touch. She supported his weight as he started to lose control over his limbs. She helped him to lie down on the couch without hurting himself. V was just an observer in the whole matter, his body too incapacitated to stop her.

The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was Evey Hammond leaning over to kiss his mask. Her words still lingered, as he slipped into oblivion.

"I love you, V. I love you even though that might be hard to believe right now."


	22. Where Ghosts Live

Chapter 22 – Where Ghosts Live

It was already dusk when Evey finally walked out into the streets of London. She had not expected otherwise, in fact she welcomed the darkness – it had been her companion for these last few months. Somehow the lack of light made it easier for her to feel at peace with the world.

She had gone out as herself, plain old Evey Hammond, devoid of masks or cloaks. Wearing V's garments had somehow felt wrong since his return anyway – and the business she wanted to take care of tonight had no need for her alter ego. Tonight was not about vengeance, it was about remembrance

You see…Evey Hammond was going home.

Not the home that lay deep underground in the Shadow Gallery, not even the little flat she had inhabited during her BTN days - she was going to the place where she had spent her childhood, a place that was now only inhabited by memories.

Short after the fall of Norsefire, The Restitution had begun. (12) All properties that were taken from people by the government were now being returned to their rightful owners…or, in many cases, their rightful heirs – as many people never survived opposing the regime.

So it came to be that Evey had become the owner of not one but two properties – her old little apartment, and the considerably larger one that had once belonged to her parents. It was the latter that she was heading towards at that very moment.

It was not far – not far at all, especially at the speed that Evey was going. She had not wanted to actually risk _hurting_ V, so the sedative she had given him was rather mild and she had no idea how quickly his superior physiognomy would get the drug out of his system.

Her destination came in sight soon enough. The building had been partially refurbished over the last few months and seven families currently lived there. In fact, Evey's own apartment was the only one that was still uninhabited.

While renting out an apartment in this area would certainly give her considerable revenue, Evey simply could not bring herself to give it to other people.

She fumbled with her keys nervously, almost afraid to enter, feeling a reverence for the building itself, as if it were a cathedral, or a monument.

Finally she entered into the dark hallway, not even bothering to turn on the light. She was sufficiently accustomed to darkness by now.

Her apartment was the ground floor one and she slipped inside in silence - the families above remaining oblivious to her presence.

Only when the door closed behind her, and old shadows were traded for new ones did she dare to think about the man she had left behind. She did not like what she had done to V, not in the least. In fact the memory alone stung so deeply that she tried to repress it the second it entered her consciousness.

She tried to convince herself that it was necessary; that he would never have let her go knowing that someone could be following her. He would have kept her in the Shadow Gallery, or he would have come with her at the very least. And this was one errand she needed to go on alone. She couldn't tell V…not yet, anyway.

Her homecoming was bittersweet. She had not been here since it was first returned to her and even then she had only stayed briefly, the memories of it all proving to be too painful still.

She had kept is as a shrine of sorts. The apartment was a box that contained her most precious of memories. She wanted to keep them locked here, safe and away from the world, in this place that safeguarded her past.

There rooms were as she remembered. She knew every corner, every discoloration of wallpaper, every angle in which the streetlight feel through the windows.

The furniture was gone, of course, irretrievably lost. It had either been destroyed or it was still decorating the homes of Norsefire families.

There were some things left, though – "suspicious" materials that Norsefire had kept in vaults. Things they had used as evidence against those who they captured, or as tools to incriminate others.

There were books – banned books – that had been returned to the Hammond household. They stood on the floor, neatly stacked into high-reaching columns. There was art, too, that had once been deemed offensive but now once again graced the walls proudly.

But the most valued possessions returned to Evey were still of a more personal kind. There were boxes filled with documents – birth certificates, anti-war pamphlets her parents had made – yes, even the odd tax receipt. They were her proof of life, the undeniable physical evidence that this family had once existed, had been normal and happy, until they were eradicated.

And there were more precious possessions still – the diary she had kept as a child…and pictures. Hundreds of pictures, stacked neatly into carton boxes.

Norsefire had kept the of course. Photographic material found in the houses of _traitors_ would be meticulously examined. The people whose faces were recognised would be interrogated at best, some of them would be re-educated…and in the worst case, they would be executed. Their only way out, really, was to give names – effectively signing the death sentence for the people they pointed out.

Evey's hands shook as she opened the boxes. She took the pictures out, cradling them as if she were holding an infant. She knew exactly what she was looking for, but she would not dig though the photographs disrespectfully to get it.

After a few moment of silence, she could bring herself to actually look at them – one by one – careful not to damage them. She passed her childhood memories along the way – her first time on roller skates, her brother's sixth birthday party, her appearance as Viola in Twelfth Night.

Yet these memories, precious as they were, were not the goal of her nightly outing.

Finally she found her prize – a stack of photos from her father's 40th birthday. A lot of pictures had been taken that day – it was one hell of a party, Evey could remember it still. It was one of her last good memories. The War erupted only a few months after, and everything changed.

There were many faces on the pictures – some she recognised, some she had forgotten – but only one she was looking for.

There it was, finally, the treasure she was looking for. There were 3 people in the picture- Evey herself at age eight, her father wearing a silly paper crown and…a strange man whose name she did not know. He was a handsome fellow, this guest, barely in his twenties but possessing the aura of one much older than that. But it was the eyes that Evey remembered. They were strikingly blue, looking straight at her from the photo paper.

A chill ran through her. Behind her, the door was carefully opened. She did not see it happen, not did she really hear it. It was instinct telling her. The same instinct guided her hand to her waist, were her daggers were attached. Even when she was not in her vigilante role, she always remembered to carry protection. Should the intruder show bad intentions, he'd be dead before he'd manage to traverse the room.

A mere second later she recognised the gait, the sound of boots, and the graceful motion. The man standing behind her was none other than V himself and she was not in any danger. A smile curled around her lips. V however, would not be smiling, and she knew it.

"I regret to inform you that your _drugs_ ceased to work prematurely". There was anger in his voice, and he was desperately trying to contain it.

"Not at all." she replied calmly. "You have impeccable timing."

She never took her eyes off the picture in her hands. There was no need. She trusted the man standing behind her. Trusted him blindly. And she could feel him coming closer.

"Your actions were a bit…below the belt, don't you agree, Miss Hammond?" He was closer now, and she could hear there was bitterness behind the anger, too.

"All is fair in love and war." she said, still not meeting his eyes.

"And which of the two is this, Evey? Love…or war?"

"Both." she said. "But mainly the former."

"Ah, so it was _love_ that made you torment me, made you poison me and made you run out into the night?" he hissed.

"What is done out of love always takes place beyond good and evil. Is that not what you once told me?" she countered. (13)

His only reply to that was a sharp intake of air on his part, and Evey suspected he was trying very hard to remain polite.

"Anyway." she continued. "It was _this_ that made my do all those things."

She held out the picture, getting up from the floor where she was sitting, finally daring to face him.

She looked at the white mask, its façade hiding the emotions of the man behind it. She reached for his gloved hand, pressing the photography into him palm.

"I couldn't tell you, V, not until I was certain."

V's head tilted down, examining the image in his hand. There was silence, first. Then Evey could hear a deep sigh, a moan perhaps. V's whole body - that powerful presence -started to shake –and Evey's suspicion was confirmed.

"The man in the photograph…When you look in the mirror, those are _his_ eyes you see, are they not? The eyes behind the mask? The ones you will not let me see?"

There was silence. Painful, deafening silence.

Eventually the masked nodded, affirming her question. The man behind the mask remained silent still, the hands holding the picture shaking.

Evey wished to grant him some privacy. She backed away until she was leaning against the window, its cool surface feeling invigorating. She ached – oh how she ached. But she could not allow herself her pain now. She breathed against the window and watched it dampen. She almost expected some form to appear – some drawing made by her or the brother. Almost…but not quite.

"Ghost live here." she finally managed to say. "Not only those of my family, but also of us – the people we used to be."

V was still standing motionlessly in the room, taking in the meaning of the picture in his hands, and of the words Evey had spoken.

"This means…this means we knew each other." He stated, his voice starting to break.

"We only met once as I recall – on that occasion - but…yes, our destinies were entwined long before you saved me from those Fingermen. I guess you're right after all…there's only the illusion of coincidence…" Evey said wearily.

Silence enveloped them again, as well as the darkness. Evey experienced a strange sensation of numbness – now that the truth had come to light, it felt incredibly surreal.

Then movement…and a sound. Without any warning, and to Evey's horror, V had collapsed to the floor. She moved to him with lightning speed, trying to support him. He pushed her away clumsily and she expected the worst – that the drug she had given him had some nasty after-affect.

But the she heard it. A sob. Followed by another. And another.

_He was crying._

Evey felt her heart break. She reached for him once more, but he grabbed her by the wrist, in defense of himself. She did not blame him. Not after what she had done. But…she couldn't just do nothing.

"V, please" she pleaded "No tricks this time. I promise. Just let me hold you. Just let me…" her voice trailed off as her own eyes filled with tears, making it impossible for her to speak as she too started to lose her composure.

His grip on her wrist loosened and she could pull free. Her slender hands found their way under the cloak, and she pulled her masked hero into her embrace. Her arms wrapped themselves securely around his waist, not intending to betray him this time. She pressed her cheek against chest, feeling each contraction as he cried. But she could hear his hear there as well, a sound that was strangely comforting.

"You're so nice and warm" she whispered, her words lost against the black fabric of his clothing. He must have heard her, though, however silent her whisper, because he finally reciprocated. His arms wrapped around her, holding her in a tight embrace. Instinctively, her face found his mask. She nuzzled her flesh-and-blood nose against his artificial one; she pressed her soft warm lips against his cold, motionless ones. It was a quaint sensation, one she could not get enough of – so she repeated those motions, finding pleasure in them. His gloved hands found their way from her waist to her cheeks, cupping her face, giving her yet a new sensation to experience. She pressed her face into the palms of his hands; aching for his touch.

He was still crying – she could tell, even behind the mask. She pulled him into her arms once more, her head resting on his shoulder. His arms, too, locked around her tightly once more. The hair of his wig tickled her in the most pleasant of ways. When she started stroking his hair, he tensed for a second. But there would be no syringes, no tricks – not this time.

She held him for the longest of times. Her own tears dried up much sooner than his did. His, she thought, must have been longer in the making.

She did not know how long they sat there, but finally, cramp started to set into one of her legs. Reluctantly, she got up. The eyes behind the mask followed her movement. She took his hand, without speaking. He came to stand next to her and she smiled at him wearily. She found herself gravitation closer to him once more, placing another kiss on the rigid white lips.

Her hand never released his, and when she started to walk away she pulled him with her. He followed, without protest, letting previous objections rest.

She took him to her old bedroom. No bed stood there, unfortunately, but Evey deemed the place to be more suitable. V seemed to understand, too, and he did not object to her little gesture. No boyfriends would have entered here – she was too young at the time. It was fitting that V would be the first. Perhaps the ghosts in this house even demanded it.

Evey lay down on the spot were her bed used to be, reaching her hand out to V once more. He understood, accepting gladly. He lay down next to her, letting her curl up into his arms. Beds, pillows, sheets – they were necessities both could do without. V removed his cloak, wrapping it around them both – a makeshift blanket. She smiled and nestled into his embrace, feeling entirely safe. Not even the past could reach out to hurt her; there was only the present now. It was not a ghost who lay beside her but a very real man of flesh and blood. She would peel through his defenses eventually, but for now she was just happy to feel his warmth, to hear him breathing. Every breath he took was a gift, a second chance – and she did not want to miss a single one. So she just smiled against the darkness, counting every breath until sleep came to claim her.

 

 

(12) Ok, I originally compared this to The Restitution in some ex-Soviet countries. One of my readers sent me an e-mail with concerns to this comparison. As I do take these things seriously, I shall elaborate a bit. As the reader pointed out, returning homes to original owners caused problems as well, because other people had been living in these places, sometimes for decades. These people were sometimes "kicked out of their home", so to speak. I do understand the social dilemma of this – the current inhabitants might have needed it more than the "original owners". Also, a lot of these properties were not normal houses, but larger properties (such as factories, etc.) So yes, I understand the comparison does not add up entirely. Also, Norsefire represents the fascist ideology – not the communist one. Again, I'm aware of that fact.

That being said, I do find it plausible within this universe. And yes, change in this universe might have unpleasant side-effects, too. But change is needed. Personally, I do not like the idea of blowing up buildings either - yet it happens in the film, and it makes sense within its logic. Maybe I am rambling now, but I hope that made sense.

(13) still Nietzsche

NOTE: Yup, I'm playing with timelines here. I know the movie says V spent 20 years in the Shadow Gallery. In the Graphic Novel V takes his revenge within 5 years after escaping from Larkhill. So, in this universe it's something between the two. V here is about 10-15 years older than Evey, rather than 20, assuming Evey was in her early twenties when she met him. As for why exactly…

-I find it implausible that someone would wait 20 years for revenge (or spend 20 years killing people one by one) – This is why I find the GN timeline more coherent.

-Also…if V's blood was used in developing the virus that killed Evey's brother, something just does not add up. Evey is what – about 10 when her brother dies+ 20 would make her 30, and she's clearly younger than that in the movie (GN Evey is 16 – she's older in the movieverse – but still not older than mid-twenties.) So there, that's the short version of how I think about the timeline.


	23. Apples & Madonna

Chapter 23 – Apples & Madonna

The first thing V became aware of when he awakened was a keen sense of loss. The fair creature that had remained in his embrace for the night had somehow dislodged herself from his arms without him knowing. That in itself was an admirable feat.

The second thing that entered his consciousness was a moderate feeling of discomfort. He was not used to sleeping in his mask, nor his thick layer of protective clothing for that matter. The burned skin underneath was complaining, desperate for some contact with air. He would not risk it though, not if Evey could still be around.

And speaking of the devil…she just walked in.

When she came into the room, sunlight fell on her through the window. The rays made her curls look golden and flattered her skin. She looked like an angel.

V himself was still in the shadows, the sunlight did not reach to his end of the room.

_How fitting_ , he thought, _even the sun knows how to divide us. Even the sun knows she is a child of light and I'm a creature of the night._

"V, are you awake?" she asked carefully, her voice quiet enough not to wake him if he _were_ still asleep.

"Only just" he replied truthfully. He sat upright, and adjusted the clothes that had started to live a life of their own when he was sleeping.

"Well, good morning then!" she said smilingly. "I went fouraging for food – unfortunately all I found was a half-awake greengrocer. He was not officially open yet, but I convinced him to give me some apples. Do you like apples?"

Before he even answered, Evey took a red-and-yellow apple out of the paper bag and bit into it.

_Always hungry, that one._

"I am…fond of apples. But I shall not require one now. Thank you, however." V said.

"Your loss." she grinned and bit into her apple once more.

V was rather surprised by how much at ease she was. Genuine ease, not the feigned kind she had displayed the previous day in the Shadow Gallery. It was surreal, really. It was so very normal. A girl bringing her beloved apples. That's what he was, wasn't he… _her beloved_? But part of him was unwilling to believe it. Part of him thought he was still dreaming – that this bubble would burst soon enough.

Evey seemed to be in a glorious mood. She was taking large bites out of her apple, while she was humming. Why she felt the need to hum with her mouth so full was a mystery to V, but he was having too much fun watching her to mention it.

Her feet, too, seemed to be restless. She was not quite dancing – it was more like walking in a rhythmic way. Whatever it was, it was a joy to see.

It took him a moment to realise he knew the tune she was humming.

"Evey, may I ask you something?"

"Anything" she managed with full mouth.

"What is that tune? You were singing it before…in the Shadow Gallery?" V was choosing his words carefully – he did not wish to remind her of what she did to him. He did not wish to accuse her. Nor did he wish to remember.

"V, shame on you!" Evey exclaimed.

"I'm sorry, Evey, I don't understand…"

"It's Madonna!"

"Madonna?" V asked in surprise.

"Yes, you know, Queen of Pop, banned because of her… _provocative performance._ " Evey said mischievously.

"I know who Madonna is." V replied calmly.

"Ah, but you did not recognis the song!" Evey stated victoriously.

"I cannot say I'm familiar with her _entire oeuvre._ "

"As I said – shame on you!" Evey said as she took another bite of her ever-shrinking apple.

"I shall just have to live with that shame then, I fear" V said courteously, bowing his head as if in shame, while actually quite amused. He forgot sometimes that she was quite a bit younger than him. But that was definitely part of her charm. Do they not say that opposites attract?

" _This Used to be My Playground"._ She said.

"This room?" V asked.

"The song!" she giggled. "It's the name of the song. Though yes, this room _was_ my playground, once."

She sat down next to him, taking his hand. Her demeanor was more serious now.

"I'm glad you got to see this place, this playground of mine."

Her fingers entwined with his. Her grip was firm – it had probably gotten firmer from learning how to handle daggers, or perhaps she just really did not wish to let go. She relaxed, letting her head fall to V's shoulder. She made such an odd sound – a human purr.

"I was happy here." She said as she rubbed her cheek against his upper arm; "With you being here, it's like you somehow are part of that."

V wrapped his arm around her, holding her close. She started humming again, hums slowly blending into words.

_This used to be my playground._

_This used to be my childhood dream._

_This used to be the place I ran to_

_Whenever I was in need  
Of a friend_

V ran his hand through though her hair. She pressed her head against his fingers, never abandoning her tune.

_Why did it have to end  
And why do they always say_

Evey sat up on her knees, shifting so that she was facing V.

_No regrets  
But I wish that you  
Were here with me  
Well then there's hope yet_

She reached out to him, placing her hand on the white mask's cheek.

_I can see your face  
In our secret place  
You're not just a memory  
_

Her delicate fingers were already pushing their way behind the mask, tugging on it, eager to remove it.

He stopped her, his gloved hands wrapping around her wrists gently yet firmly. She grew silent. She did not struggle against his grip. Even if her physical force had been superior, she would have stopped in her motions. She was not about to take anything he was unwilling to give – and he knew it. She even kept her emotions in check at his rejection, but V knew her well enough to see the disappointment in her eyes.

"I just thought…that after last night…that we could…" Evey's voice faltered.

She lowered her hands. V released her from his grip, cupping her face in his hands instead. His thumbs massaged the soft skin beneath. He brought his mask close to her face, their noses nearly touching, their mouths torturously close.

"After last night you think of me as of a handsome man. But I assure you, Evey, even if that man in the picture is me – I no longer bear any resemblance to him." V whispered.

"I know that, V" Evey said, almost insulted.

"With your mind, yes. But with your heart…that is another matter"

Evey balled her fists in frustration, drawing her face away from him.

"Why can't we just _try,_ V?" she asked, her frustration rising. "That's what other people do. They _try_. And if they fail, they try again."

"We are not other people, Evey. Surely that much is clear to you. Besides, I'm unsure if I could bear a failure of this kind."

She nodded. V was sure she would compose herself soon enough. He was sure she would understand in the end.

However, he never got the chance to find out…because something came crashing through the window, hard.

 

(14) All lyrics from _This Used to be My Playground, by Madonna_

NOTE: VincentValentine from Vigilante requested if it was possible to know what Evey was singing at the beginning of _Un-Sweet Seduction_. In the first version the song was _Memory_ from Cats. V did recognise it in that version, but the dynamic between him and Evey really didn't work there and besides, it _was_ kind of corny and just very much the wrong mood for that chapter. I decided on " _This Used to be my Playground"_ by Madonna, because it reflected the mood of where she was going. But...writing it out there gave up too much plot…so, here you have it Vincent!


	24. And Then It Rained

Chapter 24 – And Then It Rained

Evey had heard the noise, the shattering of the glass. Even after the training of the last few months, her reflexes were not fast enough to react to the threat in time.

But his were.

V was on her before she even had the time to formulate coherent thought. He used his body as a shield, sheltering her as shards of glass came raining down on them. It was beautiful really, the falling glass, shimmering in the light like diamonds. Dangerous yet beautiful razor-sharp rain.

The spectacle was disturbed by an ever-thickening blanket of smoke.

Then it hit her.

_A smoke grenade. Someone had thrown in a smoke grenade._

She pressed herself against V's body, accepting his protection gladly. But he pulled away before she could even begin to hold on to him. More shattering sounds reached her ears. She guessed he went out the same way the smoke grenade had come in – through the window.

_Well so much for doors._

She could feel she was unharmed. Part of her did not want to move though. Part of her just wanted to lie there, waiting this one out. She was so very tired. So very fed up with this violence. There were too many sharp things in her life.

Speaking of sharp things…her hands moved to her belt, where her daggers were still securely stored.

_Get up._

Her hands curled around the handles – twin daggers, entirely symmetrical and eager to be used. It was she who was uneager.

_Get up. You're being a child._

She took a deep breath. She straightened herself in one fluid motion; she was on her feet with lightning speed. Pieces off glass that still stuck to her clothes now succumbed to the pull of gravity and landed back on the floor. More glass was trapped underneath her feet, and it crunched as her weight landed on it.

More smoke was filling the room, wrapping her in a yellowish haze.

The window was damaged now anyway – might as well take the short way. The next thing she knew, she was leaping through the air. She managed to get through the window perfectly – no part of her touched the sharp edges, she went through unscathed. She landed on her feet, too, once on the other side. She was grateful they were on ground level, though. She was quite simply physically incapable of jumping from the same heights V did. If she were to try, she'd spend another few weeks in hospital.

As for V – she could see him. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of something black moving on the rooftops. She knew her beloved well enough to recognise even his shadow.

_Show-off._

She herself would continue by land – she'd leave the rooftops to him. She was fast too, her lithe body being built for speed. She remained aware of his spatial location, and went in pursuit of whatever he was chasing, too.

Perhaps chasing was the wrong word. He was stalking, prowling. Soon he would have his vengeance. She knew that V took no prisoners. And _she_ wanted answers above all else. She ran as fast as her feet could carry her, hoping she would arrive I time.

She turned a sharp corner and a young man came into her range of vision. He seemed calm; he did not know he was about to become prey.

The black shadow came falling down from the sky and Evey knew she'd have to be quick. V landed on the man with full force, using his victim's body to break his own fall. The man cried out in terror – and quite probably in pain too. V was back on his feet before anyone knew it and drew a knife from his belt.

"Stop!" Evey yelled.

V's knife stopped just in time, already having drawn blood from the man's throat, but not having penetrated deep enough to kill him.

The man – it was hardly a man really, still very much a boy – pulled himself into a ball, trying to protect himself.

"Please don't let him kill me, Miss, please." He begged as his eyes sought contact with Evey's.

Evey approached him. Her hand quickly landed in his hair, pulling hard at the blonde locks. The man cried out again and moved back to alleviate the pain, which exposed his throat. Evey's dagger landed there quickly, grazing the already bleeding skin. She was angry. This man had the audacity to defile her home. She was not in the mood for forgiveness.

"You will tell us why you attacked us, or I will kill you myself." Evey hissed.

The man started sobbing.

"It wasn't my idea, I swear, they just paid good money."

"Greed doesn't pay, dear _sir._ You should know that. Now _who_ paid you? Evey asked, still enfuriated.

"I don't know." he sobbed, shaking his head.

Evey's dagger dug deeper into his skin, and new droplets of blood started to form where the blade touched the flesh.

"I would answer the lady, if I were you. I do not think she is joking about facilitating your premature demise if you do not cooperate." V interjected.

The man looked at V in terror.

"I'm not paid to ask questions. She never told me her name. She never told me who she worked for. _Please._ I don't know _anything._ "

" _She?"_ Evey asked sharply.

The man nodded. "Mature lady, brown hair – she had some sort of _scars_ on her neck and she…"

He never got a chance to finish his sentence. The sound of his words was muted by a deafening _bang_.

It was so very loud. It hurt Evey's ears.

The next thing she knew she could feel a sticky, warm wetness on her blouse.

_Blood._ She was covered with _blood._

The red substance was splattered over her like a Jackson Pollock painting. She wanted to scream, but she didn't. Her first instinct was to check if she was shot. It was only when she withdrew her hands from the man she was holding captive, that she realised what had come to pass.

Without the support of her hands, the man's body collapsed to the street. His dead eyes looked up at her lifelessly. Part of the left side of his skull was missing where the bullet had impacted with its target.

V was already on the move, pursuing the shooter. She stood there for a moment, considering the man whose life had been ended before her. She screamed inside, but the sound never reached her lips.

Slowly she pulled herself away from the scene and started looking around for V. He was already out of her range of sight.

She found him three streets down. He was leaning over the lifeless body of a man, searching his pockets.

"He could have talked, V. You really should not have killed him." she said wearily.

"I didn't." V said. His voice sounded strange. Sad, almost.

"Cyanide pill," he continued. "I tried to pry it out of his mouth, but alas, the damage was already done."

"I'm sorry, V. I didn't mean to accuse you…"

V stood up to face her.

"That is quite allright, Evey. We both know…what I am _capable_ of. There's nothing helpful in his pockets, I'm afraid."

She nodded, feeling slightly shaky.

"I should go back to my apartment, see the damage." she said.

She wanted to walk back, but he took her arm gently.

"Evey, we must get out of here. I do not think anyone saw. But…look at yourself. If you are seen like this…" V stopped his sentence, leaving it to the silence to tell the rest.

Evey looked down again, mentally processing the blood marks on her blouse.

"Right, I forgot…" she said.

_How could she forget a thing like that?_

She was feeling a bit queasy. She could feel herself shaking. She could control it at first, but soon her muscles moved beyond her will. Latent shock moved into her system and there was really not much she could do.

"Evey, are you alright?" he asked, his voice laden with concern.

She shook her head. "I don't feel so good."

Her legs failed her. His arms wrapped around her in time, as she knew they would. He would never fail her.

"Come. Let's go home." He said caringly. "Can you walk?"

Evey nodded, though that was not _entirely_ true. She was leaning on him quite heavily, her body refusing to cooperate.

He wrapped his cloak around her – protecting her, hiding the blood from sight. It was weird seeing him like this, in broad daylight. It was as if he somehow did not belong in this day-world that lacked the shadows to protect him. He looked… _vulnerable_ here, as if the light had stripped him from his supernatural power.

In the distance, a siren could be heard. _Someone_ had noticed _something._ They had to disappear as fast as they could. And she realised she could not do it. She was incapable.

"V, you need to leave me. You can still make it out on time."

"Leave you? No, that would be entirely out of the question." V stated.

"I can't run." Evey tried to explain.

"Then I will carry you." V said, refusing to back down.

"I'll slow you down. They will see you. A man in a mask will _not_ go unnoticed."

He stood there, looking at her. How frustrating that she could not see his face – or more precisely, the expression on it. Something was definitely going on in his mind.

The sound of the siren was getting louder.

…

And then it rained.

Thick, solitary drops at first. But soon it was pouring down and it was like the sky had torn open and was leaking all over Earth. Evey looked up.

"God is in the rain" she whispered.

She held out her arms. The cold droplets invigorated her, made her feel somehow alive. The adrenaline started pulsing through her veins and it was the little push that she needed. She tingled and her body felt hers again.

_What a glorious non-coincidence._

Her legs started moving again, and she practically pulled V along as she ran. People were vacating the streets rapidly, uneager to get wet. They were too busy looking for shelter to notice the two strangers running bravely through the rain. Too busy even to see that one was stained by blood and the other was wearing a mask. The curtain of rain was so thick it was not possible to see much, anyway. They must have looked like two blurry figures to any onlooker. Completely uninteresting, not worth a second glance.

Just two people running from the rain, trying to reach their home.


	25. Tea at Midnight

Chapter 25 – Tea at Midnight

Ache.

How she ached.

The adrenalin had long gone. There was a numb pounding in her head. Her fingers barely cooperated as she was trying to take off her wet clothes. Coldness embraced her once she was naked, and all she wanted to do was to curl up in something warm.

She stepped into the shower, turning the tap on.

Water.

Water is life.

Her skin was sensitive and numb at the same time. The little drops both hurt and felt unreal. They were warm, though, and that was something at least. Not quite like a blanket – not at all like V's embrace – but it would have to do to keep her heated.

She appreciated the symbolism of water but knew it could not wash away her pain. Her ears still rang from the gunshot. Her own chest wound hurt and she found herself tracing there with her fingers, reassuring herself of the fact that the bullet had really been taken out. She found nothing there but an angry scar and breathed a sigh of relief. It still hurt, though. Her whole ribcage felt wrong.

_She_ felt wrong.

Her body started shaking, as the last of adrenalin poured out and was replaced by fatigue and anxiety.

She wondered how V did it. How he had done it for so many years. Dealing with death, that is. Delivering it. Witnessing it. And never flinching.

She wished she had his ability to heal – both body and mind. Perhaps that's why he was so eccentric – the scars ran through his soul, too. They were not only delivered by his captors at Larkhill but by himself, too, every time he had taken a life or seen one taken.

And now she had already started to go down that path. She had not killed today, but she had before – and she would again if needed. Already the scars on her soul were taking shape and her skin too now bore scars – one close to her hip, the other close to her heart. She wondered how many more would come over the years. So many, perhaps, she would one day be covered in them, like V. Perhaps then the cycle would be complete.

She felt very sad suddenly. Very sad and lonely.

She allowed herself tears, knowing that the water – her faithful ally – would wash them all away.

\- - -

Fire.

Fire is so pretty when it dances.

V sat in the kitchen of the Shadow Gallery, intently watching the little flames under the teapot. It never ceased to be a mystery to him how something so deadly could be so beautiful. He too had gotten rid of his wet clothing. The new garments that replaced them looked suspiciously like the others, just less elaborate. Simple black trousers and a simple black long-sleeved t-shirt that were functional in their simplicity. He had on his boots, too, not separated from them even in the safety of his own home. A new wig – identical to the other – now sat on his head. Only his gloves were removed, allowing him slightly more dexterity in handling his tea.

It was strange, really - usually he considered his full-body wear as a restriction. Especially in the beginning, not long after Larkhill, he had found his new wardrobe hard to get used to. He often took it all off after entering his home, letting what was left of his skin breathe at last. That was of course long before he'd had Evey living there.

On this night especially the tight clothing even gave him comfort, like a second skin protecting him. He felt cold, which was rare for him, and he suspected that the chill came from the inside rather than from the outside.

The teapot whistled, asking for its owner's attention. V took it off the fire and poured in some tea for himself. He could still hear Evey's shower running in the distance and decided he was safe. He tilted up his mask and brought the cup to his damaged lips, enjoying the taste of fine jasmine tea.

As much as he was trying to concentrate on simple tasks, he found himself failing. His mind was on Evey and on the picture she had shown him in the apartment. He honestly did not know what to think of it. While he could not remember the event – in his heart he knew that he was the man in the picture. A handsome man, he was, and it was exactly that what killed him inside. In his most secret of fantasies he wondered what would have happened if Larkhill had never came to pass. Would he still have met Evey, perhaps on some political rally with her father? Would she have found him attractive? Could they, perhaps, have fallen in love like normal people do?

Painful question they were, running through his mind like little cruel razorblades. Questions he'd never know the answer to.

And then there was poor Evey. What had he done to her? All the things he craved to protect her from were now a part of her everyday life. There was so much violence, so much death – and he could not save her from it.

His hand clenched around the delicate teacup and the china, unable to bear the pressure, fell apart in pieces.

Both tea and blood dripped on the kitchen table.

\- - -

Snow.

Snow in October.

Eric Finch could not recall witnessing such an event. Sure, scientists did keep saying how we destroyed the environment, but it's different seeing it with your own eyes. Besides, wasn't it supposed to be global _warming_? First the streets of London had been invaded by walls of rain, then slowly the thick drops had transformed into fluffy snowflakes. Children had run out into the streets to play in the snow, but Finch himself was not impressed by Mother Nature's whims. Snow simply meant his job would last a little longer – and he would be a little colder while doing it.

Evey had called him earlier, explaining the attack on her apartment. He promised her to take care of it. He still knew people who knew people and he had just enough influence to ask for a few favours. Now he was standing in Evey's old flat, surrounded by a few trusted officers who took to investigating the matter before more unwanted guest got hold of the news. However, Eric Finch feared it might already be too late for that. This was England after all – the gossip press grew rampant here and there truly would be no way of stopping them if they wanted to run with this story.

\- - -

Many feet below no snow could be seen, and temperatures gave no indication of the cold outside. Despite the heat, Evey Hammond draped a fluffy dressing gown around herself, feeling chilly again as soon as she exited from the warm safety of the water. She made her way to the Shadow Gallery, finding V there. He was still in the kitchen, accompanied by a first aid kit, out of which he had taken some bandage. He tended to his hand with a cold precision, seemingly impervious to pain. It was Evey, it seemed, who felt his pain for him. She could swear she could even feel her hand tingle. She wondered how it could be that she could feel so close to someone, while still being painfully aware of the divide between them both. Her hesitant fingers carefully touched his shoulder. The flinch she expected did not come.

"What happened?" she asked softly.

V inhaled a breath of air. "Oh, it was silly really. I had a minor disagreement with a teacup and I'm afraid the cup won."

Evey knew instinctively, immediately, that there was more to the story. She also knew he'd never tell.

In her mind she was braver. In her mind she stripped him off all his defenses – and off all his clothes, too. The real world Evey, however, contented herself with wrapping her arms around V's shoulders and burying her face in his wig.

She could feel him tensing under her touch, the first steps towards pulling away from her. His scarred hands were already reaching for his gloves, seeking protection from her touch. This time, however, she would not let him. Her own hands reached for his. Her fingers wrapped around the fire-damaged flesh, creating and interesting contrast.

"Evey, please…" he breathed.

Ignoring his words, she brought his hand up and kissed it. Again her action was met by a flinch.

"Trust me." she whispered against his hand. "No games this time. No deceit."

He brought his hands up to her face almost reverently. He placed his palms on her cheeks, cradling her face lovingly. The mask looked at her and she wondered what expression lay beneath. A sigh sounded from beneath the white, grinning façade.

"I trust that you _think_ you know what you are doing." He finally said.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Evey asked, irritation creeping into her voice.

"I'm not the man in that picture, Eve. Even if I was once, I no longer am now."

Evey closed her eyes, nuzzling his hands.

"I know." She whispered.

"Do you? Do you really?"

Evey opened her eyes again in a reflex to try and read his emotions. Of course, the mask revealed no secrets. She had no intention of playing this game with him. Anything she could say, he could counter. Neither of them could win this disagreement with words. Taking his hands again, she moved them away from her face, guiding them down to her waist. The masked man did not fight her. She was almost surprised, but in the most pleasant of ways. She wondered if she could push just a bit further. Still guiding his hands, she slipped one of them under the fluffy towel. What a strange sensation it was, skin on skin. Most people took it for granted, but not Evey Hammond. However, coherent thought was getting harder. Letting go of her self-control, she leaned in to kiss V. Real skin on porcelain, it did not matter; to her it was a kiss.

Finally he reciprocated, right about when she started to fear he would not. His strong arms wrapped firmly around her, pulling her on his lap. She went with the movement, embracing him in turn. Kisses followed; real lips on artificial ones, both trying to show their affection. Neither of them spoke, afraid to break the moment. V finally gained confidence, his hands moving up from her sides to her bare shoulders and back. His disfigured fingers explored the skin there, much to Evey's delight. She rubbed her bare legs against his clothed ones. She quite liked the feel of his boots against her toes. She wanted to touch all of V, clothed or otherwise, as much as he'd allow. Her hands moved to his chest, feeling the muscles beneath the layer of clothes. He tensed.

At first Evey thought it was something she had done. She feared she might have crossed some unspoken limit. She wanted to say something, but V brought a finger to his lips, signaling silence.

Then she heard it too. It was a faint sound at first, and V's heightened senses surely picked up on it sooner that she physically could. They were footsteps. Still not very close, but unmistakable.

There was someone in the tunnels outside of the shadow gallery.

Evey felt suddenly naked. Not because of her lack of clothes, which was also a problem, but because she was unarmed. She wanted to search for her daggers, but V was ahead of her already. With a graceful display of strength he lifted her off his lap and reached for his blades in the same motion. V disappeared from her sight and seconds later she heard a petrified yell. It was not as much a yell of pain as it was one of shock, though, which led her to believe the intruder was still alive.

She wrapped one of V's cloaks around her as it was the first thing in reach that could offer some protection.

What she found in the other room was a rather pale Inspector Finch, who was only just recovering from nearly being impaled on V's knives.

"Eric? What on earth are you doing here?" she asked.

"I have info I thought you might…appreciate." he stammered.

Evey thought he might faint.

Some time later they were all sitting in the living room. Evey had dressed and had made some tea that she served in colourful china. V and Finch were sitting across each other as if they had been friends for years.

It was not at all how Eric Finch had imagined things to be when he had headed out to this underground home. Granted, he hadn't imagined being threatened with knives either, but at least that was something to be _expected._

He was toying with a piece of paper. He had scrabbled down some info on it. Not that he really needed it. He had learned all info by heart.

He sipped his tea and scraped his throat.

"Your place will be all right, Evey." He finally said. "I'll make sure it won't be looted. After I'm done investigating I'll arrange for the window to be fixed, too."

"Thank you. I appreciate that." Evey said. The smile on her face was a tired but genuine one. "Any clue who the bodies were yet?"

"Evey, I'm not sure how to tell you this…but there _were no_ bodies."

A frown crossed Evey's face. Finch was quite sure he would see the same expression on V, had it not been for the mask.

"They made them disappear," V stated, almost musingly. "These people have more power than I anticipated."

"Now as for your woman with burn scars," Finch continued. "I might have something on her." He took another sip of tea. "I did not find anything on the name of Nancy Stephenson, but I dug deeper. You see, Stephenson is her second husband's name. She was born as Nancy Rice, and then changed surnames again when she married a man called George Cleaver. Now Cleaver was a nurse who worked at…"

"Larkhill," V finished the sentence for him.

Finch nodded.

"Is he…was he…?" Evey started.

"On my hit list? No. But I did kill him." V said. "You see there was a rather big _boom_ on the day I broke out. While it was not my intention then to kill anyone, my little experiment with explosives did take a few lives. And judging from Mrs. Stephenson's burns, she was probably visiting hubby dearest when it all blew."

"She wasn't in that hospital by accident." Evey said. It was not a question, but a statement.

"Most certainly not," V agreed.

Eric Finch got the distinct feeling that he was disturbing. In any case, he suspected V and Evey might need a moment alone. Not that they would ever tell him, but he picked up some tension between them. And he was not the kind of man who imposed himself.

He stood up, straightening his trench coat.

"I'll let you know if I found out something more."

Without much ado, Eric Finch disappeared back into the subway tunnels. The Inspector knew when to make himself scarce. Besides, the road home was still quite long ad he never felt quite at ease in the darkness of the underground.


	26. Smile, You're on Camera

Chapter 26 – Smile, You're on Camera

V woke up feeling a strange pressure on his left arm. Getting his bearings, he realised it was Evey who had taken ownership of his limb. She was sleeping peacefully, as she rarely did nowadays. He remembered now how she had insisted to sleep in the same bed. Nothing had happened, much to his relief – and disappointment. His clothes were on, as were hers, only his gloves and boots were missing. Evey had explicitly requested their removal. Some of her curls were touching his bared hand and the sensation was quite unbearable. After so many years of not touching, it was almost painful to experience this sort of physical stimuli. But for his Evey, he'd gladly endure it.

He touched her face almost fearfully, his fingertips barely touching her skin. She stirred and a smile appeared on her drowsy face.

"Hmmm, good morning." she mumbled.

"Good morning, Evey", he said, smiling behind the mask. "Would you like breakfast?"

She nodded, still drowsy. He got up, slightly reluctant, but glad to be useful to her in everyday things.

Later, he actually enjoyed the ritual of putting on one of his colourful aprons and baking eggs. The ritual gave him structure, manageability. He had lived a solitary life for so long that company still made him nervous, even Evey's company. It was a strange feeling, really. On one hand he ached when he was apart from her, on the other hand he was never quite at ease when she was around. Every time he was in a room with her he got nervous still. He got clumsier too, and had to fight the urge to _fumble_ with things. He wondered where that urge came from, if he'd had that uneasiness about females before Larkhill, or if it stemmed solely from his scars and his lack of experience. Remembered experience, anyway.

Soon his thoughts trailed off to where he did not wish to go again. He turned on the radio to distract himself. The radio was an acquisition he was quite proud of. It was an old model from the sixties that was still in working condition. The song "Uptown Girl" was playing and its upbeat rhythm made V feel a little better about the world.

Evey came in, yawning in the most adorable of ways. Her curls were still messy; she was wearing jeans and a stripy t-shirt. Flashing V her nicest smile, she sat down at the breakfast table. He served eggs with real butter, like the first time he met her.

He enjoyed her hunger. He enjoyed watching how her mouth shaped around the toast. In fact he enjoyed every part of her, he now realised, and he could spend an eternity watching.

On the background, the melody of "Uptown Girl" ended. A jingle came on and a man's voice started to read out news headlines. It was just a hum at first. Background noise. Not at all interesting compared to the sight of Evey eating. That is, until it actually sank in what the newsman was saying.

_Elections._

_Of course. Why didn't he think of that?_

Evey saw that that he was in thought and looked at him questioningly.

"V, what's wrong?" she asked.

He simply brought his finger to the lips of his mask, motioning she should be silent.

"… _looks like we have a new player on the field," the radio voice said, "the PROV, short for party for return to old values, has announced it's in the run for the coming elections. Who exactly they are or why they chose to come forward only now, remains unknown…"_

"I never heard of them.", Evey said.

"Oh, I think you have, Evey. I think we all have."

The frown on her forehead got larger, but then it hit her too.

"Return to old values…they're _Norsefire_."

V nodded. "Yes, I believe so too. Which leads me to believe that the attack on you was a lot less impulsive than I thought. In fact, it was probably meticulously planned.

"And they were never after V", she stated, the rest of her toast still in her hand. "Not even in the beginning.They were after Evey Hammond."

"Indeed. You have more power than you know, even without a mask. You've become an _idea,_ Evey, and therefore you are dangerous. You've become an icon of the revolution.

"And that's why they want me dead."

V sat down next to her. He finally dared to initiate contact with her. His ungloved fingers entwined with hers. She closed her hand, squeezing back firmly.

"Evey," he sighed. "We could use that to our advantage."

"I know,V. Don't feel bad. I'll do what it takes. After all, ideas are bulletproof, aren't they?"

He reached for her cheek, caressing it. She nuzzled his hand.

"When did you become so much like me?" he asked.

"It's the outfit," she said with a bittersweet smile, "it makes you rise above yourself."

She kissed the inside of his palm.

"You think people would actually vote for them?" she asked.

"You'd be surprised, Evey. Freedom is tricky. It means you have to think for yourself. It means you're responsible for your own actions. Some actually prefer a golden cage."

Evey finally finished the last of her toast.

"So what do we do?" she asked.

"Leave that up to me."

V spent half of the day writing. Evey lounged around the Shadow Gallery. He had requested her to get something smart to wear. She had found a silk blouse and a matching navy blue jacket and skirt. It suited her – she looked more mature than she had before - and for the first time in her life she actually saw the resemblance with her mother. She had always avoided the comparison, to be fair. But here it was anyway. She was her mother's daughter.

It was in the late afternoon by the time V emerged from his room. He was holding a video camera and a sheet of paper.

"I…I prepared a speech. You may adjust it if you wish, of course."

There was shyness about him, a shyness that was new since she had become a vigilante. Like he did not know how to deal with her on the same foot. She took the paper from him, scanning it with her eyes. It looked decent enough.

"You want me to read this? In front of a camera?"

The mask nodded silently.

She sat down as he adjusted the camera, arranging her hair.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Not quite."

She sighed.

"V, are we storming another TV station for this? 'Cause I don't want innocents to get hurt, I don't work that way."

"I promise Evey, there will be none of that."

She nodded and scraped her throat.

"All right, "she said. "I'm ready."


	27. The Nine O' Clock News

Chapter 27 – The Nine O' Clock News

Jacob Weinstein had lived most of his life under a false name. He had lived a false life. He had denied his name, his family, his Jewish roots for the very sake of survival. But he had not stood by doing nothing, either. You see, Jacob had a talent. Ever since he was a child, he was good with machines…even since he was a teen, he was a hacker.

His crimes were minor, in comparison. They were the sort of crimes that would put a smile to V's unseen lips. He would hack into Norsefire's systems, and steal money from the government. He would take only small amounts from different accounts, so none of it would really be missed when they did their books. It could be explained as a small accounting mistake, a human error, nothing to be terribly worried about.

He used the money to make his life a little more comfortable, but also to supply the Underground. The Underground could be taken quite literally at times. People living in safehouses, old factories, even underground tunnels, in fear of their lives – just because being different made them dangerous. No-one really knew about them. The public was not supposed to know.

What an unlikely Robin Hood he was – middle-aged, slightly overweight and balding. And yet, he was the very embodiment of stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. After Norsefire fell, he had even stopped his clandestine activities, not finding it quite so amusing to steal from people who actually needed the money. Little did he know that his services would be needed again.

They came to him in the shadows, a masked man and woman, in the early hours of the 5th of November. Jacob had taken an early night, because he was planning to attend the day's festivities.

He awoke with a gloved hand on his mouth. He did scream, but only a muffled sound could be heard.

"Jacob," a pleasant voice sounded. "Jacob, I promise not to hurt you. But you must not scream, do you understand? Can you do that for me?"

Jacob nodded, petrified. The hand was removed from his mouth and he gasped for air – not so much because of the deprivation of it, but more from fear. His eyes adjusted to the darkness within seconds and the white mask that was looking at him was unmistakable.

"You." He gasped. "They said you were dead."

"They say a lot of things about me, Mr. Weinstein, and you should only believe half of them. Certainly the rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

Jacob's eyes trailed off, noticing the smaller figure behind V.

"Is that Evey Hammond?" he asked. The black figure sighed and approached. It removed its mask and revealed a young woman's face, outlined by a sea of curls.

"I swear, V, I might as well not bother with the outfit."

Jacob went a bit pale. "Are…are you going to kill me now, now that I know your face?"

Evey shook her head. "No, of course not." she said as she sat down on the bed.

"But we acquire your assistance," V added. "Now, would you be so kind as to show us to your computer?

Jacob switched on his nightlight and got up, both scared and reluctant. The November cold made him shiver once his protective blankets were removed and his toes quickly looked for the safety of warm slippers.

The three moved downstairs in silence. The first noise that could be heard was the hum of the computer on startup. Jacob reached for his glasses, his shaking hands only managing to put them on clumsily.

"Good, Mr. Weinstein, now I want you to hack into the broadcasting company." V said calmly.

Jacob's glasses nearly fell off his nose again. "What?" he stammered. "Television you mean?"

"Indeed" V replied.

"But I can't possibly…"

"Oh, I did some research on you, Mr. Weinstein. You _can_ …and you _will._ Otherwise I will be forced to break in there personally – and I'm sure you remember what a mess it was last time I did that. Now, I think both of us would like to avoid innocents getting hurt, would we not?"

Jacob only nodded. He turned his attention back to the computer screen. He cleared his throat. "So what exactly do you want?"

"The nine o' clock news," Evey's voice sounded. "Nationwide."

Jacob cleared his throat again. "It will…take a while."

Jacob's fingers typed almost faster than his mind could think. One hour passed…two…and still he was not done. Behind him Evey Hammond leaned against V's shoulder, resting with her eyes closed. Jacob could not help but feel jealousy at seeing their intimacy, as his own marriage had failed years ago.

It was already dawn when he felt certain he could perform the task demanded of him. He was lucky, in a way, that the country still in a phase of development. Security was not nearly what it should be.

He signaled to the masked man. V approached and pulled a shiny disc from under his garments. Jacob took it from him, tentatively.

"Are you sure this is what you want?", the hacker asked.

V merely nodded and Jacob inserted the disc into the drive. It was twenty to nine when everything was set to go. For those last twenty minutes, the three figures waited in front of the computer screen in uncomfortable silence.

Just briefly before nine, Evey switched on the TV in the other end of the room. She was preparing herself mentally for hearing her own voice in public. As soon as the news jingle could be heard, it switched to static, then to an image of Evey facing the camera – or facing the public rather. A public consisting of most of the country.

" _My name is Evey Hammond,"_ the voice on the telly said _. "You saw me last as the accomplice of the man called V, the man who brought you freedom. Today, on the anniversary of our liberation, I wish to give you a warning. As some of you may know, an attempt has been made on my life. At first, I believed it to be a mistake, but I now have reason to believe it was all premeditated._

_While I would normally never wish to interfere with the democratic process, I believe this situation calls for an exception. The people who hired my assassin are hiding in our midst. They are the people responsible for so many years of suffering. They are Norsefire – and they have come to us as a wolf in sheepskin. They have leeched on our fears and our insecurities; they have tried to take advantage of our vulnerable position as a nation that searches for its identity again._

_This is why today I come to you with a request. I ask you not to vote for the PROV party. They are old enemies under a new name. They have tried to silence me, but they have failed. This is not a dictatorship anymore. I cannot tell you who to vote for, but I ask you anyway. Because if these men and women take power again, it will be the first and the last time we can exercise our right to choose._

_Thank you for your time and my apologies for interrupting the programme."_

Upon hearing her last words, Evey switched off the television.

"You think that worked?" she asked V.

"Let's hope so," he said. "For all our sakes."


	28. Incognito

Chapter 28 – Incognito

Evey Hammond watched herself on a hundred screens, in a shop that sold second-hand television sets. Her little performance had not gone unnoticed. It had been over the news most of the day and now, as the day was drawing to its end, there were already dozens of journalists who debated about her appearance. They even brought in a political analyst or two, who tried to interpret the day's events in light of the coming elections.

Evey was sure that she could not have stood in the shop calmly had it not been the fifth – and had she not been wearing a Guy Fawkes outfit. She had not worn one since V's return, but somehow it seemed fitting today. Everyone was wearing one. It was like Halloween, but with only one costume. The streets were swarming with people in disguise – laughing, drinking, and celebrating freedom.

She was joined by a masked man. He stood by her, making sure she was safe.

Unfortunately, it was not the masked man that she _wanted._

"Looks like you are quite the celebrity," Finch's voice whispered from behind his disguise.

She nodded. "Let's hope that's a good thing."

She wandered back on the street, drawing herself away from her own image in hundredfold. Finch followed her, almost as her lapdog. It was funny in a way. He was with her as a sort of self-appointed bodyguard. But the truth of the matter was, she was far better at defending herself that he ever would be.

The sun was starting to set and it was getting colder, even though it was still unseasonably warm for November. In the distance, the first few fireworks were set of and they flew from the city horizon, their brightness diminished by the rays of the sleepy sun. The real fireworks would only start in a few hours, but a few amateur enthusiasts had already begun celebrations.

The atmosphere was unexpectedly pleasant. Looking at the people, there was even a sense of brotherhood. There was love in the air – not in the romantic sense, but in a sense that went much more to the core. The kind of love for another, stranger or not, that was capable of bringing people together when it counted most. The kind of love that stood opposed to man's ability for destruction. Yet in this sea of love, Evey felt utterly alone. The one man she wished to share this moment with, had managed to disappear. He had said he did not care much for crowds and had some other matters to attend to, but she was angry about his stubbornness. This was the one day they could have walked together on the streets without drawing attention. The one day that was all about him.

And he was not here.

Men, she thought, masked or otherwise, could at times be infuriating. Worst part was, she didn't know where he was or what he was doing – and deep down she feared that his disappearance had more to do with avoiding her than with attending matters of great importance.

"Finch", she said with a sigh, "let's get pissed."

Her companion tilted his head, and she could only imagine the look he was giving her behind his own mask.

"I'm serious, Eric, I want to get totally and utterly drunk."

He muttered some words in protest of course, quietly trying to talk some reason into her. But his words were lost to her, as she had already made her mind up.

And so it came to be that both of them were sitting in the _Prospect of Whitby_ less than half an hour later, each downing a pint of beer.

The atmosphere in the pub was rather peculiar. Everyone was wearing Fawkes costumes, except for the employees. Most had removed their masks though, to make consumption of alcohol easier. Not Evey, though, she had merely tilted the white face upwards so her glass could reach her lips. In a strange way, she figured she knew how V felt. Her mask was her ally now, more than ever, because after her public speech it was the only thing giving her anonymity.

Finch was sitting across the table from her, and unlike her he had unmasked. His brown eyes radiated worry in her general direction. It was sweet really, and it reminded her of the reasons why she had kept in touch with him all this time.

Dozens of conversations were being conducted simultaneously, which made the whole of it into an ocean of chatter that surrounded them continuously. On occasion the monotone noise was perturbed by someone laughing; once even with the breaking of glass after a tray was dropped. Evey kept true to her intentions and had already passed time by drinking.

She had managed to down five pints before actually feeling the effects of alcohol. And even then, it was just faint, like her body wasn't intending on cooperating this time. She looked at her watch. It was almost ten o' clock. Soon the day would end, and she hadn't seen V since she had first aired on television this morning.

"You love him very much, don't you?"

Eric Finch's question was unmistakable even through the noise. Evey was unsure how to respond. She was sure to take a sip of her sixth beer first.

"I don't know." She said. "Maybe. Probably." She felt like banging her head against the table. "It's just so complicated. We're so complicated. It's all a mess, Eric. Every time I want to get closer, he pulls away. And every time I think he wants to get closer, I pull away. And right now it just makes me want to scream."

She leaned back in her seat. Maybe she was drunk after all. Or maybe she just stopped caring, who knew. In any case, words seemed to come easier now. All her life she'd been afraid of losing people. All her life she _had_ lost them. She wasn't even sure she wanted to feel this way about V. It would be so easy to lose him– again. But she was so tired of fighting herself, too.

"Evey," Finch tried again. "Back when I was investigating V's case, I got hold of Delia Surridge's diary. Well, some parts of it. There were some pages torn out…I'm assuming they were about his past…"

Evey shook her head. "I don't think they were. They were more likely about some torture he did not want you to know about. No-one knows who he is. Not even him."

Finch looked at her questioningly.

"It's some sort of amnesia, I think. Triggered by one of the experiments…you did know about those, right?"

Thinking about _that_ particular fact made Evey angry, and she decided to add some more alcohol to her blood.

"And those experiments…am I right to believe they left some sort of…disfigurement?"

Evey nodded. "I've never seen him, Eric. Not the real man.But he told me as much. I love a man without a face, a name or a past…and I honestly don't know how to do it."

She was frustrated. Angry. When did she get so angry? She hadn't been angry when her brother died, nor when her parents were taken. She just used to be scared all the time. Is this what had come in the place of fear, after V had taken it away? Did anger come with the job, the cape, the mask? Her hand closed around the beer glass, crushing it shattered between her fingers. She was startled by her own strength and dropped the glass in surprise, but not before some of the shards dug into her flesh. Her hand was left wet with beer and blood. She looked at it almost as if it were an alien object, not part of herself.

_He's gotten inside of me. Underneath my skin._

It was Eric who gently took her but the wrist, and pressed a napkin against her wound with his other hand.

"Go home, Evey." he finally said. "Look at you. This isn't you. You do not want to be here. And certainly not with me. Go to him. Talk to him."

He searched for eye contact, her mask not making that particular action easy for him. She nodded, trying to be pleasant. He, of all people, did not deserve to deal with her anger.

Finch paid and guided her out safely. Darkness had fallen over London and explosions could be heard. They had made it out in time for the fireworks. The sky was decorated by a million little artificial stars, contorting themselves into the strangest formations. Eric took Evey by her arm, guiding her home like the gentleman he was.

"Thank you," she said. "For everything." "Oh, you're welcome, Evey. After all, someone has to look after those who look after us."

\---

Many feet above Evey and Eric's heads, V's figure was looking at the fireworks in the sky. He did not wish to mingle. After all these years, he was a man _for_ the people – not _of_ the people. He loved the dearly, all of those anonymous people in the street. He'd fight for them. He'd die for them. But he couldn't be one of them.

He was enjoying his victory from a distance, as he would always do. He even enjoyed the solitude sometimes. It was like a joke that only he was in on. But today he had made a mistake – and he knew it. He had neglected the one person he cared most for in this world.

Maybe she was home already. Maybe he could still wish her a happy fifth – yes, there might still be time. He turned around, jumping to the roof behind him.

He let the wind work with him. If he moved fast enough, he felt as if he were faster than the wind even – and he'd let the wind carry him to her. He made a mental note to himself that he was a silly old romantic, but that didn't stop him in his stride. He was taking the short way home.


	29. November Rain

Chapter 29 – November Rain

Evey Hammond returned to the Shadow Gallery not long before midnight. To her surprise, she could hear music coming from the underground quarters. Candles illuminated the way ahead of her and for a moment she wondered if she had not entered some other subterranean lair – or if she was not dreaming.

She followed the music. The melody grew louder in her ears and soon she found herself not far from the jukebox. Right next to it, she recognised V's silhouette. He acknowledged her presence with a nod – a bow, almost – as perhaps a gentleman from another era may have done.

"Shall we dance?" he asked kindly.

She looked that the man in the shadows. His face, as ever, was hidden behind the white porcelain mask that was always grinning. But she believed, in that moment, he might actually be smiling underneath.

He reached out with his gloved hand – an invitation. She smiled and accepted, moving closer, facing him. The tune on the jukebox was unfamiliar to her. She put one arm around his waist and the other on his shoulder.

"What are we dancing to?" she asked.

He wrapped an arm around her in response to her touch.

"You do not recognize it?"

She shook her head.

"I'm afraid, my dear, I am not exactly exposing you to high art" her masked companion said. And by now she was quite sure that under the mask, there was at least a faint smile. She let her face rest against his chest and closed her eyes. She could hear his heartbeat now, going faster than the music.

"The song is called November Rain" he continued. "It seemed to be somehow…fitting".

"Yes, it quite is" she whispered as she nuzzled his chest.

Unsure how to respond to this physical expression of affection, he rested one of his gloved hands on her head and stroked her new-grown hair.

If she were a cat, she thought, she surely would be purring by now. But a cat she was not. The man before her, in many ways, reminded her of just how human she was. She felt more alive – acutely aware of the pounding of her own blood, the nervous exhilaration that made her breath grow slightly erratic and, most of all, the nearly unbearable craving her body had to touch him.

"Evey…"

She nearly melted when he spoke her name.

"Yes?" she replied, trying to keep her composure.

"You are shaking" he stated, with a faint hint of worry in his voice.

She looked up at his mask – at his face. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement. For a moment he could see in her an echo of the child she must have been in happier times, when she and her brother would get up to mischief, no doubt. V let out a deep sigh,followed by a shiver that ran though his whole body. This did not go unnoticed by the girl in his arms, of course.

"As are you" she said, and with that, pressed her lips against his ever-grinning mask.

Then she took his hand, pulling him with her before he could protest to any of it. He followed – how could he not? They ran together through his Shadow Gallery and she giggled – giggled! of all things – and to him, it was the fairest sound in the universe.

They ended up on the roof somehow. It was raining. Of course it was raining. To him, there was no such thing as coincidence. She stood in the rain and twirled around, still dancing. He stood there, solemnly, watching this beautiful creature.

She felt the rain caress her skin. She was getting quite soaked but did not mind in the least.

"God is in the rain!" she shouted upwards to the sky, like someone up there could actually hear her. Then she twirled around again, laughing.

V watched the drenched figure with delight. He felt alive through her. Then she stopped and her eyes met his. It was she who reached out her hand this time, inviting him to her. He took her in his embrace again, dancing with her, to the sound of the raindrops on the rooftop. Her head returned to his chest and with it there came a strange feeling of comfort.

They were quiet for the longest time, both caught up in their strange private dance.

"V?" Evey asked eventually.

"Yes?" He answered softly.

"Kiss me."

The words were spoken softly and candidly, yet they were uncompromising also, for both of them knew a refusal would not be acceptable. Not now.

When after a long silence he spoke her name, she placed a finger on the mask's grinning mouth, as if she truly believed that this gesture could physically silence him.

"Shhhh."

Her request for silence was a whisper itself. But it served its purpose, so it seemed, because V had not finished his sentence.

"No more arguments." she said

She looked at him intently, trying to read his emotions. Then that mischievous flicker returned to her eyes – just before she closed them. She placed one hand on each of her eyes. Again, he saw the child in her, playing a game he did not yet know.

"I promise they won't come off." she whispered "Please…surprise me/"

_Ah. So that was the game._

V sighed. She did not realize what she was asking, of course. She looked so innocent then...and so very beautiful, standing in the rain with her hands over her eyes. And she was growing anxious, he could tell. He would have to make his decision soon.

"I will count down from ten, ok?" she said as uncertainty crept back into her voice. "After that, I will not ask again".

She bit her lip.

"Ten"

_Determined, wasn't she? It was one of the things he loved about her, of course._

"Nine"

_This was tempting, so very tempting. Perhaps he could…_

"Eight"

_No. He couldn't. He couldn't possibly._

"Seven"

She slowed down her counting, hoping her bluff would still have a favorable outcome.

"Six"

She was shaking now, not only because of the cold rain, but more so because of unbearable anticipation.

"Five"

_She had gotten herself into quite the mess, hadn't she?_

"Four"

He reached for his mask, still doubting. _It's now or never, isn't it?_

"Three"

_She needed more time. More time._

"Two and a half _"_

He could not refuse her. No matter how difficult it was.

"Two"

He slipped off his mask, holding it shakily in his hand.

"One and three quarters"

He smiled, with his real face now, at her attempts at stalling.

"One and a half"

She did now know how much more of this she could stand.

"Please, V"

He felt his heart melt.

"One and one quart-"

She could not finish her counting, for his lips covered hers. That most blissful of sensations. She almost whimpered as the horrible tension left her body and disappeared right with that kiss.

He too, was in a state of bliss. His first kiss in ages. The first he'd be able to remember. How very sweet it was.

They broke free, gasping for air.

"One more, please" she bargained.

He complied, of course, more confident this time. He wrapped his arms firmly around her, kissing her hungrily yet gently. And she kissed back, savouring the taste and feel of him, mixed in with the taste of rain.

When they broke free a second time, he spoke softly.

"You will keep your promise, won't you, Evey?"

She nodded, keeping her hands dutifully on her eyes, waiting patiently until his mask was back in place.

"You may look now." he said.

She removed her hands from her eyes, seeing V as she had always seen him. Yet he was changed to her forever now. And entirely for the better.

"You know, for a moment there, I did not think you would do it." she spoke.

"For a moment there, I did not know if I could." he said honestly.

She leaned into him. He wrapped her arms around her once more, holding her close.

"Thank you." she whispered

"Oh Evey, it is I who should be thanking you…"

"You can thank me by doing it again sometime" she said gently.

He did not know how to respond to that. But that was quite all right. I was enough to just hold her close and feel her body against his, their union blessed by rain.


	30. Smoke & Mirror

Chapter 31 – Smoke & Mirror

V stirred in his sleep. As he opened his eyes, it took him a few moments to realize that he was not alone. The young woman next to him was sleeping; the movement under her eyelids suggested she was dreaming.

He was still amazed that she wanted this closeness to him, and even more amazed of how close he had actually allowed her to get. He stroked her hair, gloveless. A few incoherent sounds escaped her mouth and a smile formed on her lips.

She did not wake up though. He took that as a compliment. Evey – the new Evey – would be on her feet and holding her daggers in seconds if she felt threatened. But she allowed his touch, even her unconscious mind seemed to be particularly fond of him. She was wearing only underwear under her dressing gown, and he found his gaze wandering along the exposed strap of her bra, down to the curve of her chest. Not long ago, he would have gotten up and left the room entirely. He would have considered it improperness, a grave breach of trust to look that way at a woman he respected so much.

Yet now more than ever, he was aware of the fact that he was also just a man. A man, who like other men, appreciated the female form. A man capable of love so strong it nearly took his breath away. And most importantly, a man who finally dared admitting to himself – at least a little bit – that he craved physical touch just as much as others did.

Yet above all, he was also a gentleman, and he carefully covered up those parts of her that should not have been exposed – his eyes lingering just the slightest bit longer than a proper gentleman's should.

He got up quietly, not disturbing her dreams and made his way to the bathroom. He bolted the door. No matter how close he felt to her, he did not want Evey to barge in on this moment of privacy.

There was a single mirror in the room. There had not been one for years. He had installed it for Evey's sake, originally. He had positioned it in such a way that it could be ignored though. He had calculated it, befitting of the perfectionist that he was, in such a manner that you could not see your reflection upon entering, nor could you see it upon exiting the shower or the bath tub. He did not mind mirrors usually – in fact he had quite a few of them. But they generally reflected back the self-confident V, the man in battle armour, ready to take on the world. But this room was different. This room, where clothes were taken off altogether, was infinitely more confronting. So the mirror had been banned to a lonely corner, and even then, V took the habit of covering it with his cloak when using this room.

But not today.

Today he moved towards the mirror.

Slowly.

Tentatively.

He saw his strange image reflected: a dark-clad man with a white face that was fixed in just one facial expression. He looked at the uncanny while porcelain he had come to call a face. Especially with the wig, he looked like a life-size version of a children's doll. A blatantly artificial identity, created by a man who did now know who he was.

He did not look at himself often. Not _really_ anyway. He had a little ritual for shaving, involving a hand mirror. But those were just patches of skin he saw, not a full face, and with the sole purpose of achieving a functional task: shaving what was left of his facial hair.

Sometimes he almost thought that if he would not look long enough, if he gave it time, the damage underneath would disappear. However, it never did.

He slowly took of his gloves. That was the easy part. His hands reached for the mask. It came loose under the pressure of his fingers.

He paused.

His own breathing sounded incredibly loud to him, even though a bystander would probably not have noticed anything special about it.

He took one last deep breath before he swiftly removed the mask, leaving himself to stare at his human face. His wig was on still – a small vestige of his vanity.

Through the years, he had learned to look at himself. The disfiguring scars had become normality. The stabbing feeling of regret in his heart, which he had felt in the early years, had slowly ebbed away. He had stopped thinking about it. There was no point in mourning the loss of his appearance. That is, until Evey came.

Evey changed everything. Including the way he looked at himself. Now every imperfection was an offense. And his face had many offenses indeed.

He reached for his wig, removing that protection also. Patches of hair still remained, but they were irregular; some pieces burned away irreparably.

Even when looking at himself, like this, in his human form – he found that there was something artificial about him. Some patches of skin looked almost like melted plastic. He didn't think his face looked very human anymore. In fact it looked more like a carnival mask of a character of a horror movie. One would almost expect that he'd be able to take it off. Unfortunately , that was not the case.

His instinct was to smash the mirror. But he didn't. Instead he touched the reflective surface with his fingers. It was, in a way, like if he reached out for himself, trying to give himself courage. But he did not believe in his own efforts. He signed and closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the cool mirror. A single tear ran down his ruined cheek.

_Right, old chap, that is quite enough of that. Stop wallowing in self-pity._

He pulled away from the mirror and removed the rest of his clothing. In the corner of his eye he saw the rest of himself; the body that was covered in similar marks as his face was. He banned the image from his mind and stepped into the shower.

The water felt pleasant on his skin. There was a time when that was different. Once, before he was fully healed every drop had felt like a needle. The routine to attain hygiene was tortuous. But no more. He could enjoy his physicality, at least up to some point.

He enjoyed the scent of the soap. He liked the sensation of the bubbles on his skin; the feeling of running water on his lips when he tilted his head upwards. In his mind, he could conjure up the way her lips had felt on his. Even if she would run after seeing him, even if he'd never see her again, he'd have that memory of her. That one perfect kiss that no-one could take away from him.

Something stirred between his legs. Something that had not stirred for a long time. So unexpected it was, that he did not notice at first; not until the hand holding the soap moved downwards and noticed a hardness there.

Surprised, he lost the grip on the soap and it fell to the ground. His fingers clenched around the new-found hardness, starting a rhythmic motion. He had done this before – which single man would not – but never like this. Never with her image in his mind; so close, so real that he could almost feel her. His body tensed, and release soon came. With that, he found some new-found composure. He rinsed himself off one more time and left the shower, with only the slightest feeling of guilt over his fantasies.

He left the shower, dried off and started getting dressed. Not a second too soon, it seemed. Because for some reason, the alarm of the shadow gallery had started ringing.

V rushed out of the bathroom. Evey was nowhere in sight. She had used the few seconds head start to already explore what was happening. He would not be V if he could not find her, though. He went in pursuit, going in the direction that lead to the intruder, knowing Evey would be there too.

He saw her, in the darkness. She was pressed against a pillar of one of the old subway tunnels, using it as cover. She had heard him, and signaled to him that he should stop moving. He looked towards where her gaze was fixated. In the darkness, there was movement. I was what appeared to be a figure of a man. Evey was already gripping her daggers, getting ready to throw. Peering into the tunnel again, he noticed that something strange: the man had a cane and appeared to have great difficulty walking. I didn't make sense: Norsefire would not send a disabled assassin; that would be ludicrous. And if it was meant as an elaborate trap – well, let's say he doubted they had enough IQ points to come up with it. His hand moved to Evey's, preventing her from pulling her weapons.

"Wait," he whispered in her ear.

She complied, looking at him questioningly. He reached underneath his cloak, pulling out a different weapon altogether. He pulled the pin out of the smoke grenade, throwing it in the direction of the still unsuspecting intruder. The man started coughing and covered his eyes with his sleeve. The smoke made it difficult to see, but V like it that way, using it as cover in getting closer to the human silhouette.

"Wait, don't kill me," the man's voice sounded, "I'm only here to help."

V tilted his head. That voice sounded _awfully_ familiar. He took the last few steps towards the man and tapped his shoulder.

The stranger turned around. V's heart skipped a beat. Because now, even through the thick smoke, he could see the man was not a _stranger_ at all…


	31. Dead Men Talking

Chapter 31 - Dead Men Talking

"You….you are _dead_!" the man stammered in the most delightful of English accents, when he was faced with V's mask.

"That is a rather ironic statement coming from _you,_ " V replied, as he stared at the face of none other than Gordon Deitrich.

The smoke was clearing, yet Gordon was still holding his sleeve in front of him mouth, coughing.

"Just out of curiosity, if you thought I was dead, whyever are you here?" V asked.

The reply to the question was never spoken, but quite clearly obvious when Evey Hammond stepped towards them. She was shaking, her hand covering her mouth as if in shock.

Without a word she flung herself around Gordon's neck, hugging him as if there was no tomorrow. After recovering she pulled back, wiping the tears from her face.

"What is this? Is this come-back-from the-dead-season, and someone forgot to tell me?" Evey attempted to fight her shock with humour, but the cracking up of her voice signaled to her that she wasn't quite ready for the task.

She felt V resting his hand on her arm, in an attempt at comfort. She moved her own hand to his, acknowledging his concern was appreciated.

"If you did not come to see V, I take it you were looking me." Evey said. It was not a question, but a statement. She knew no-one would make the long, perilous journey without reason. Especially not a man with a limp.

"Come," she said, "we might as well talk in a more comfortable place."

She started walking, the two men followed.

"Really, Evey," V finally said, "If you start having any more visitors here, I suggest you start charging them for board."

She was only mildly amused. She adored his sense of humour. But her life had been turned upside down a little too often lately to find it funny.

Not long after, Gordon Deitrich stood in the Shadow Gallery. He was looking at the random bits of artwork gathered there. The look on his face was that of a little boy in a candy shop.

"My God, is that an Edvard Munch?" Gordon Deitrich exclaimed. "And is that thing real?" he asked as he pointed at a centuries old Greek statue."

"Yes," replied V as he moved to stand next to Gordon. "There are no replica's here. And I've made quite a collection over the years."

V spoke those words with a certain pride. Evey could quite clearly hear it. His posture, too, was confident – a clear sign that V was quite content about his achievement.

Evey sat reclined on the velvet-draped sofa, watching the two men from behind. There was something very pleasing about men who loved art, she thought. In her lonely year in this underground lair she had studied some of V's collection. She read his books – not all, that would take far more time, but the ones she thought he'd want her to read. She read the art books too, and was confident she could now name most works in the Shadow Gallery. And then there were stories. Stories with characters she had come to call friends. And then there were the stories in her mind. The stories she made up before bedtime, to make herself sleep better. Stories in which all the ones she loved were still alive, being close enough to touch.

And lo and behold, two of the men she believed to be dead, were standing just a few feet away from her.

"I still can't believe you're alive," she said.

Only when both men turned, did she realise that she had actually spoken those words out loud.

"Oh, I'm hard to kill, Evey," Gordon said. "And it looks like your masked friend here is, too." He limped towards the sofa and sat down next to Evey.

V approached, but hesitated, long enough for Evey to wonder what was going on in his head. The masked man tilted his head downwards, as in shame.

When he finally spoke, his words were hesitant, and soft. Very much unlike his usual speech.

"Mr. Deitrich," he spoke, "I am truly very sorry. Had I known you were still alive, I would have tried going after you, freeing you. But I hacked into their records, they listed you as dead. I…truly do not understand."

"The bastards must have wanted to save their own skins. If it leaked that a 'dissident homosexual' escaped, heads would have rolled. Probably quite literally," Gordon said. The tone of his voice indicated that he would not at all have minded a few decapitations of that kind.

"You escaped? You escaped the Fingermen?" Evey asked in amazement. "I have never heard of such a thing happening."

"Ah, well that is because they did not want you too," Gordon replied.

"Extraordinary, "V remarked; his head slightly cocked sideways in his familiar  pose.

"They stopped me the first time," Gordon said, pointing towards his knee. "I tried running away from them even before they got me to the interrogation. It was silly of me to think I could outrun them really. All I got for my effort was a shattered kneecap."

Evey cringed, and she was sure she could see V twitch, too.

"The thing that got me out in the end was good old-fashioned money," Gordon continued. "Really, they should have paid their guard better. I always kept a _secret_ stash in case of emergencies. I overpaid him, of course. The boy is probably sipping marguerita's on a tropical beach up to this day. But it bought me my freedom, and a ticket to  Brighton. The Underground was still fairly active there. Some people helped me disappear."

V looked at Gordon questioningly, that much was obvious even behind the mask.

"You did not think you were the last living opponent of the regime, did you? There were more of us," Gordon said, "it's just that not all of us were quite as…explosive as you were. Which brings me to the purpose of my visit…"

He turned towards Evey "I fear you life might be at risk. Especially after your little television performance. Really, the both of you should have known better."

Evey sighed: "They were trying to kill me long before that. Besides how is that connected to your Underground?"

"I've been active in the Underground movement for a long time, even when I was young. There was a meeting place here in London, too. The original group I was with disbanded and I kept a low-profile after that, fearing for my own safety. But lately…some of the people I knew have been winding up dead. Last of them being a woman called Rose Atkins. Only I never knew her real name back then. But I recognized her face on the news."

"Atkins? That name rings a bell," Evey said.

"She's the elderly woman who was brutally murdered a while back," V reminded her. "I never thought more of it than a random act of violence. But I should have known better. After all, there is no coincidence."

Gordon looked a V strangely. His eyes squinted slightly.

"Is something a matter?" V asked.

"No, no," Gordon replied, "It's just that…that sounded awfully familiar. I don't know where I heard it, though. Anyway, it doesn't matter."

He turned to Evey again. "I came here to warn you. I am no fool. I have heard reports of "V" having a female voice and I put one and one together. If they're after the old Norsefire opponents, you're a target as well. But I also have another request, even more so now that I know the real V is alive, too."

"And that is?" Evey asked.

"I want to warn my old friends. Those who might be on Norsefire's hit list."

"Well why haven't you already?" Evey wondered.

"Here's the thing. I don't know who they are. That is….their real names. We used codenames, for safety. No addresses, no phone numbers. All I know is where we gathered…and what they looked like 15 years ago. But I thought…I hoped…that you two might be resourceful enough to find them…..before someone else does."

V remained silent behind his mask. Like he was contemplating if he wanted to take on another fight, another cause. Then, strangely enough, he shifted his gaze to Evey, as if, for the first time, awaiting her approval. She nodded slightly – how could she refuse?

"Well, apparently you have come to the right address, Mr. Deitrich," V finally spoke. "But it is late now; we shall begin our quest in the morning. You may stay the night, if you wish."

Only after the V's words were spoken, did Evey realise that by offering Gordon a place for the night, he had limited their own options. There were only two bedrooms, after all. And she could not help but wonder if behind his apparent hospitality to Gordon, there might have been a subtle invitation to her…


	32. Stay The Night

Chapter 32 - Stay The Night   
  


The light in V's room was dimmed. Evey still felt a slight barrier when entering his quarters. It felt almost like sacrilege, to enter this room, where his belongings had rested peacefully, awaiting his return – a thing she had not thought possible. Yet here he was, very much in the flesh, sorting his clothes in a fashion that one would expect of an expert housewife, not of a masked crusader. He turned to face her when he felt her presence. She looked at him, as she leaned against the door frame and crossed her arms.

"So, it's one bedroom for us tonight?" she asked, smirking ever so slightly.

She had spent the night in his arms before, but it always appeared to her he did so for her benefit, not his.

"Only if you wish," V replied, "and I assure you, I shall be the perfect gentleman. But if you oppose…I can just as easily sleep on the couch. I do not require a great amount of comfort."

There was just the slightest hint of bitterness in that last sentence spoken, and she imagined that at Larkhill, all he got to sleep on was a cold floor.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said as she moved away from the door, towards him.

She reached for his hand, squeezing it gently with her own. Her other hand moved to his wig, then moved down to his motionless cheek, then down to cup his face – the only face she had ever known him to have.

"For all my talk this is still your home, V." She said. "And for all that changed since we met, I always liked your company more than I admitted."

She stood on her tips, pressing her nose against Fawkes' nose; her lips almost close enough to touch his. She could hear him breathe. She could _feel_ him breathe. The air from his lungs caressed her lips. She closed her eyes and smiled.

"I seem to be quite terribly fond of you, V, and if that makes me a madwoman – then so be it."

A loud breath escaped from the small hole between porcelain lips, and she felt his arms close around her, pulling her into an unexpectedly tight embrace.

He nuzzled her cheek, whispering in her ear: "And you do not know how much that means to me."

She reciprocated his embrace, pressing her cheek against his chest. Sometimes she forgot how strong he was. For all her recent training and the advantage of her agility, she couldn't match up with him in pure strength. Then again, most mortals could not. That was okay though, because she knew he'd never use it to harm her.

"I love you more than anything on this Earth, Evey Hammond. Please always remember that."

She looked up, almost baffled, in an instinct to read a face that was by its very nature unreadable. His voice had sounded terribly candid when saying those words, but also sad.

"What's wrong, V?"

His face tipped downwards, and she was struggling to tell which emotion could be behind the mask. He sat down on the bed. She noticed that his legs were slightly shaking. She joined him, seeking closeness, looking up at him questioningly.

"I do not know how to do this", the masked man said.

"Oh, V…no-one really does…but…"

"Please, let me finish", he cut her short. "It is not my intention to make light of the toils and troubles of lovers. But the simple fact is; I never imagined living this long – and all these years I lived on hatred, not love. I believed in revenge, not in happily ever after. I tried so very hard to become an idea, and I succeeded, but in the process I forgot how to be a man."

Evey Hammond felt her emotions welling up, but refused to give her tears freedom. She tugged at him, pulling him into her arms, and surprisingly so, he let her. He took a deep breath and continued. "I do not remember much of the man I was before, Evey, and I have ended my vendetta. Now…I am not sure who I am anymore."

Evey pressed her chin against his shoulder. She avoided looking at him for fear of bursting into tears. He had opened up to her in the fashion that came naturally to him – with words. But tragically, words were the one thing that _she_ was lacking right now. Anything she could think of would sound hollow - or worse, patronizing.

Well, there was always honestly, she supposed.

She looked up at the mask.

"I…don't know what to say to that, V."

"I do not expect you to say anything. I do not expect anything of you. Certainly not more of you than you are willing to give"

"But…if you did expect…what would you _like_?" she asked.

He remained silent, seemingly reluctant to answer.

"Help a lady out here", she pleaded.

"I would like you to stay the night," he said, "I want you to stay the night while accepting I might not be the man you want me to be. That there might be lines I cannot cross."

"Cannot, or will not?"

"Sometimes that comes down to the same thing."

She nodded, unsure that she _truly_ understood though.

"Well, yell _stop_ if I'm crossing a line, then", she managed.

"Likewise", he said, his tone being graver that she'd expect it to be.

Then, entirely unexpectedly, V slipped his right hand out of his glove. Evey could not remember him ever doing so of his own accord. When his hand moved to her cheek, her breath stopped. He seemed to sense this, and he almost pulled away, but she stopped him by eagerly placing small kisses on his fingers and the palm of his hand.

When her capacity to breathe returned, it was erratic and ragged, a sign of the effect this man had on her. Never before did she feel the urge to rip off his mask and kiss him so strongly. Yet she was more aware than ever before that this act would probably chase him off forever.

She felt compelled to move though; compelled to bridge the small distance still between them. Her hands moved behind his neck. Her fingers would only need to move slightly remove the Fawkesian façade to see his face. It was a strange exercise in control that she put herself through, before pulling him near and straddling his lap. In this position, she sat taller that he did. She smiled, savouring this rare reversal of roles. The strange thing was that, he had not tried to stop her yet.

Her fingers started to explore uncharted, still clothed territory. She moved her hand to his shoulders, feeling the strong muscle there. Down she went, along his arms, until her touch returned to his gloveless hands where her fingers entwined with his.

It was then that he reciprocated. He lifted her up as she weighed no more than a feather and gently laid her down on the bed. Her champagne curls sprawled over the bed sheets. To herself, she seemed to be in an awkward pose, but judging from V's body language that did not stop him from finding her appealing.

The masked man moved on top of her, hovering there like a living shadow. This could – or should – by all means have been frightening, but she realised that she trusted this man with her life. A tentative hand was rested on her chest, waiting, as if still awaiting her permission.

He remained there, for the longest time, until she knew that her face must have expressed worry.

She wanted to speak, but he beat her to it.

"Evey," he breather heavily, his voice unstable like she never heard before. "There are no windows in this room. If I turn off the light, I have…a certain freedom. But you must promise me…promise to all you hold dear, you will grant me the protection of darkness as long as I need it."

She nodded instinctively. "I promise," she said, "do it."

Before Evey even know where exactly he had moved, she was surrounded by darkness. So deprived of light the room was, that she could not even make out basic shapes. Somehow, though, she suspected that _he_ could.

She felt his presence despite her blindness, and she was not at all surprised when she was locked into a tight embrace.

She returned the gesture, holding him close, nuzzling his chest. His hand caressed her hair, making her smile towards impenetrable shadows.

He placed his hand under her chin, tilting her head upwards. Only when she felt his breath on her lips, did she realise that the mask had come off at some point. She was familiar with the breathing behind the mask, and it had more of an echo and less of it reached her skin.

A moan escaped her lips in anticipation.

After what seemed an eternity his lips met with hers. She clung to him, returning the kiss hungrily. This was not at all like the way they had kissed on the roof. On the roof they had been more like school kids, exploring each other with fear. But these kisses were deeper, more primal and lustful.

He was not like other boys she had kissed – mostly because he was no longer a boy, of course. Though she could not see the damage on his lips, she could feel they were coarser than they rightfully should be. Yet he was in fact a rather good kisser, and if he could truly not remember his past, Evey suspected there must have been some muscle memory involved. That or he was a very fast learner.

Kiss after kiss, she felt closer to him. Kiss after kiss, she lost more of her self-control as her body ached to become one with his.

It was then that – entirely instinctively – her hand moved to his cheek. For a second she could feel the skin there, uneven and seemingly on fire. A mere second, before he pulled away and the dreaded "stop" was uttered.

"I'm sorry…," she started.

"You shouldn't be," V said. "I fear my passion for you has clouded my mind. If I cannot bear to show myself to you, how can I expect closeness?"

"I do not mind, V", Evey said.

"I think you do, deep down," he said, "You are a woman of high standards and high morals. In any case, _I mind._ I should not sneak to your bedin darkness like a rapist, like a common criminal."

"I hardly feel violated," Evey replied, her voice a bit more harsh than expected.

"And I thank all that is dear to me for that. But it is a matter of principle, Evey. How can I expect more of others, if I cannot live up to it myself?"

Evey felt him move away from her, and all she could think of was to yell "stop".

V did indeed stop his move.

"I have a request," Evey said. "I respect your wishes, but I do not want this to be a step back. Let's just…go from here. Stay the night. I, too, do not expect more of you than you are willing to give."

In her imagination, she thought she could discern a smile in the darkness. In reality, she could be sure of no such thing. All she was sure of was that he returned his proximity to her, his arms holding her gently.

"Thank you, V"

"You are very welcome, Evey"

She remained there for the longest time, just listening to his heartbeat, the only sound in the room. It gently rocked her to sleep. One of her last thought before entering the realm of dreams was that she would get past this man's defenses someday, even if it was the last thing she'd do.


	33. Almost Normal

Chapter 33 - Almost Normal   
** **

The first thing V was aware of when he woke was the all-encompassing darkness.

A lack of light will do strange things to you. He knew that from experience. The first few years in his underground lair had come close to being one constant stretch of jetlag. Yet somehow he had adapted, and his internal clock had become quite accurate, despite the lack of cues by the sun.

His body instinctively knew that it was morning. When his brain returned to coherent functioning, he knew another thing: that the woman lying next to him had kept her word. No lights had been turned on to invade his privacy. No attempt had been made on her part to explore that which he preferred hidden.

He had not expected any less, in a way. He had no doubt about her honesty or her moral standing. The fact that she managed to contain her curiosity never ceased to amaze him though. Nor did her apparent affection for him, which curiously so, came with no strings attached.

It was with a hint of sadness that he reached for his outer face, the visage of Fawkes that rested patiently on his night table. As he tied the mask in place, he felt a sense of imprisonment that he had not felt for years. It sent shivers down his spine. So strange how so little time can change things so much, he thought. Usually he felt a surge of energy as he donned the mask. It gave him freedom and power. It was his opportunity to roam the streets as a victor, not a victim.

But now the mask had outlived most of its use. No-one cried out for vigilante anymore. The mask now remained only his shelter, a barrier between other humans and his ruined face.

He turned on the light, reluctantly. The rays of artificial light cause Evey Hammond to realise it was morning, and she stretched sleepily.

"Morning, V", she mumbled.

He caressed her cheek as a response to her greeting, making her smile.

"I'm going to make breakfast for our guest," V said, "care to join me?"

She propped herself up on her elbow, wondering if she had heard correctly.

"Join you at cooking?"

"Well why not? All happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast" _(15)_

She grinned. "You and your quotes. Sure, why not. Let's cook. It will be almost normal."

 _Almost normal._ Those words that she has chosen randomly, probably without a second thought, ringed in his head. Unwittingly, she had stumbled upon a great, undeniable and saddening truth. The two of them could fool themselves. They could pretend they were like other people for short, stolen moments. But it would be an act. And after the performance, they would have to go home, and the time would come to hang up their costumes and remove their masks. And that last part was an insurmountable obstacle for V.

He forced his mind on other things, though, and extended his hand to her, helping her out of bed.

Not long after they were both standing in front of the stove, showing off some of V's coulourful aprons. Evey's specimen looked like it had been made for the occasion of Easter. It was decorated by cute little chicks and fluffy bunnies. V's was a red-and-white checkered one. V was quite fond of these little acquisitions to his wardrobe. He like the contrast between the colourful, homely material and the self-imposed uniform of black he usually wore.

Evey seemed to be in a good mood, and that at least lifted his spirits.

"So, eggy-in-a basket then?" she asked.

"Yes, yes! First, we take a cookie cutter…and make a hole in the middle. Then put butter on both sides."

V was enjoying the simplicity of going through the motions, and the apparent enjoyment it gave to Evey. She followed his instructions, clumsily perhaps, but it was exactly that which he found endearing.

"What's next?"

"Well, you pre-heat the pan and put the slices on there.

Evey did as he said.

"Check," she said victoriously.

"Put the slices in the pan. Then you put some more butter in the middle, and put the eggs in the hole."

Evey tried to break the egg gracefully, but it came apart in her hands. Miraculously it still landed in the middle of the pan, but it left Evey with sticky hands. V quickly went for the kitchen cloth, wiping her hands clean. A brief moment of skin on skin. He wanted more, so much more. But he settled for her soft-spoken "thank you". He did see that his touch had effect her: the slightest tensing, a slight irregularity in her breathing. In days past, he would have assumed it was fear or disgust. But now he started hoping it was something else…something he did not dare to put into words yet.

Reluctantly, he forced his mind back to breakfast. Burned eggs would do no-one good. The meal was starting to smell deliciously, its colour was turning to golden. He added some salt and pepper to spice it up.

So wrapped up in his task he was, that he did not notice Gordon Deitrich walk into the room.

"Something smells rather nice here," his voice echoed in the kitchen. He looked well-rested and relaxed, much better than the night before.

"Ah, I told you he makes similar eggs to yours," Evey said, "it's uncanny, really."

"Breakfast, Monsieur?" V asked.

It was at the very sound of the word _monsieur_ that Gordon Deitrich's previously well-rested face turned into a sickened shade of pale. His cane fell, causing deafening racket as it hit the ground. Gordon himself seemed to lose balance, but he managed to grab the edge of the table.

"My God," were the only words that escaped from his lips.

The he moved, his eyes bewildered, limping towards V. Before V well enough realised it, Gordon's fingers were reaching for his mask and it took him great effort to stop the man from exposing his face. "Sir, I do not wish to be rude, but this behavior is unacceptable. My face is not viewable to the public."

"You…truly do not remember me?" Gordon asked, his eyes tearing up. "My God, what did they do to you?" In the heat of emotion, he hugged V with great affection, clinging to him.

"Mr. Deitrich. Truly, I think you mistake me for someone else." V said uncomfortably, trying to push away Gordon gently.

"No…no…I rather think I am not mistaken. I was blind to not see it earlier. But I thought you were dead, you see."

Gordon pulled away from the embrace that was choking V, but still kept his hands rested on V's shoulders. Then one hand moved up, stroking the side of V's wig.

"Well, look at you now," Gordon said through his tears.

V's discomfort level had reached epic proportions and he took hold of Gordon's wrist, gently but firmly.

"If you are implying some sort of romantic involvement, Mr. Deitrich, I am flattered but you are truly mistaken."

"Romantic???" There seemed to be genuine disgust on Gordon's face. "Good lord, of course not. That would just be wrong. I keep forgetting that you don't remember…I'd never sleep with you. That would be disturbing. You're my little brother."

Evey's face twisted in shock and disbelief. Invisible to the world, V's face did exactly the same under the mask. No one moved. Everything went absolutely quiet, until the smoke alarm announced, with loud beeping, that today's breakfast had not been a success, and things were far from normal.

 

 

_(15) John Gunther_

" _Eggy-in-the-basket” recipe borrowed from Recipezaar_


	34. A Thousand Words

Chapter 34 – A Thousand Words  


Gordon Deitrich was standing on the rooftop, looking over at London's skyline. Next to him the masked man was standing motionlessly. His cape danced in the wind – a contrast to his stoic posture.

"It's beautiful up here, "Gordon finally spoke. His breath was visible in the cold evening air. He was clutching a picture in his hand, protecting it from the wind.

V too was holding a picture – the one that Evey had found in her flat.

Gordon moved closer, exposing the picture in his hand.

V placed Evey's picture next to Gordon's. There were three people on it. One was a much younger Gordon, the second one was an attractive blonde woman who was holding her fingers up in a "V", and the third was a blue-eyed dark-haired man. Even with both pictures taken in a slightly different angle, the likeness with the man in Evey's picture was unmistakable. Under his mask, he smirked at the girl's V-shaped finger posture.

_I know there's no coincidence._

_But today the universe is rubbing it in._

"Well, do you recognise yourself?" Gordon asked.

"That's a difficult question to answer, Mr. Deitrich. I am capable of establishing that both men must be the same person. I acknowledge that the evidence points towards that person being me. However, if you talk about recognition, that would imply some sort of trigger of familiarity, and that, I fear, I do not have. I remember neither occasion nor do I recall that face being mine. It certainly is not what I see in the mirror, if you understand me. So I must say that I am sorry, but I do not remember. I wish I did, but I do not."

Gordon nodded.

"I do, though. I assure you. You _are_ my brother."

"I do not doubt your honesty," V said. "But may I inquire…how did you know this _before_ you saw photographic evidence.

"Because of her," he said, pointing to the blonde woman.

"She called herself Voltaire. That was her codename, when we were secretly gathering, exchanging dangerous ideas and plotting rebellion. As far as I know her real name was Danielle. She would cheer us up; even in the dark moments, when we thought there was no more hope. She would always go around saying Monsieur this, or Mademoiselle that . . . It became sort of a running joke. We all started doing it. She was originally French, you see. One of the reasons why she hated Norsefire so much. That and her being a bisexual atheist feminist activist."

V couldn't help but grin. "I think I like her already."

"Oh you did", Gordon said, his voice becoming a bit graver. "You did much more than just _like_ her."

V looked at Gordon, trying to take in what those words actually _meant._

No muscle on Gordon's face indicated that V had interpreted those words incorrectly, though. On the contrary, Gordon's silence and the sadness around his eyes confirmed that he had indeed meant a romantic bond.

V touched the face on the picture almost reverently.

"We were in love?"

"Very much so", Gordon said.

"What happened?"

"She died."

"They blackbagged her?" V asked, trying to contain his emotions.

"Not quite. She tried to assassinate Creedy, along with four others. She failed. They all died the trying."

"Why wasn't I there?"

Gordon took a deep breath.

"You were different then. You wanted to stop her, not join her. "

"And after?"

"After all you could think of was revenge."

"She's the reason they came after me," V concluded.

"No, she's the reason _you_ went after _them_ ," Gordon sighed. "You went alone, because after the first time, no-one dared to. We were all so afraid."

Gordon took hold of V's arm, trying to fight his own emotion.

"You never stood a chance," he continued, his voice breaking up, "There were so many of them. You fought so valiantly, but you were just one man."

"And men are not bulletproof", V stated sadly.

He moved away from Gordon and went to sit on the ledge, precariously close to the abyss below. He looked over his beloved London as the lights started to go on one by one. How many untold stories there must be behind those windows, he thought, how many joys and triumphs, how many tragedies? As much as he loved being the _vox populi_ , fact was that the _populus_ had always been a rather abstract concept to him. He wished to defend them, as a group, as a nation, but deep down he had to acknowledge that he knew very little about actual people. His loss of memory had kept him from dealing with one very poignant fact: that once, in another time, in another city, he had been one of those people behind the windows. He had lived and he had loved. He had been just as vulnerable as the people he had tried to protect. He had a family, a house…a name. Only then it occurred to him, that's was question he never asked.

"What was I called?" V asked.

"Edmond," Gordon replied. "Mum was a fan of old swashbuckler movies, she called you after…"

"…The Count of Monte Christo", V finished.

"You know it, then."

"It's my favourite film."

"You would always run around the house with a rubber rapier, Gordon reminisced, his tone losing some of its gravity, "You were quite a handful, Edmond Valentine Deitrich."

_E-V? Universe, you are mocking me today._

"Valentine? Now I do question our parents' judgment."

"Perhaps. But you were born on Valentine 's Day. Mother said she gave that name to you so you'd always be loved."

"Well that certainly was a miscalculation."

"Not really," Gordon said as he shook his head, and moved closer to the edge. He placed his hand on V's shoulder.

"You are loved by all the people who owe you their freedom. Now, come back inside. It's getting chilly and the one who loves you most is waiting for you there."

 

 

 **Autor's note:** This chapter has more "talk" than I originally intended to, hence the chapter name. That, and this chapter is a1000 words, without the title  & this note, just for fun. Of course it also refers to the saying that "a picture tells more than a thousand words." I felt G& V needed to have this conversation, so I hope you're not too bored, more action is coming up.


	35. (Wo)men of Honour

** Chapter 35 – (Wo)men of Honour **

Evey Hammond looked out over the streets of London. She had found high ground on the roof of an abandoned supermarket. Its windows were smashed, its stock long looted. Some attempts had been made in the past year to breathe new life into some of the less hospitable quarters of the city, but this street had definitely not gotten a makeover yet.

Evey was prowling, in a way: looking for a criminal stupid enough to cross her path. She was well aware that her rekindled interest in patrolling the streets had a lot to do with her anger. Her anger, which was well-contained, but very much alive.

It wasn't even that she was angry at V. He had given her no real reason to. If she was honest with herself, she knew that V had acted pretty much according to expectation. Even now, he was trying to protect her in a way she did not appreciate. He deliberately kept her at arm's length, shielding her from the horrors of his past, but inadvertently also pushing her away. But that was nothing new. She _wanted_ to be angry at him. Instead, she was mostly just frustrated that they were both trapped in this seemingly never ending dance around each other.

When V had gone up with Gordon to have their man-to-man talk, she had considered eavesdropping. She had considered insisting on being included. But she had done neither, respecting their privacy. Briefly she wished that she had less solid morals; that she cared a little less about things such as respectful conduct of personal honour.

This was not the case, however, which is why she was now sitting on top of a roof, feeling alone in the world again.

It was well past dusk already. The evening air was cold and she was thankful for the protection that her cloak gave her. She'd been sitting there for two hours, maybe more, when she did in fact spot some suspicious behaviour.

Two teens, suspicious by the very act of trying to look casual, flanked an older woman. One of them "bumped" into her. Evey could see, even in that brief moment, that he had removed the woman's wallet with expert agility. By the time the woman reached for the pocket of her coat, noticing something was missing, the young men were almost at the end of the street.

This would not take lethal force, Evey thought, merely a lesson in manners. She aimed a smoke bomb at the two boys. It landed just in front of them, blinding them, slowing their pace.

Evey jumped in between them, first expertly stealing back the woman's wallet.

"Hey!" one of them yelled.

Evey moved her daggers into her hands.

A ripping noise could be heard.

"What the hell" the other juvenile cried out.

More ripping noises followed, accompanied by the sound of daggers moving swiftly in the wind.

"Get off me!"

_rip rip rip_

"Psychopath!"

_crunch crunch_

"Heeeeelp!"

_snikt_

"You'll pay for this!"

Those last words were yelled, getting no reaction or reply.

The smoke cleared. Evey Hammond was long gone. The only two people standing there were the young thieves, wearing nothing but their underwear and their sneakers. Their clothes were scattered across the asphalt, cut into dozens of little shreds.

– – –

Two streets further, Evey was already returning the wallet to its proper owner, who thanked her cordially.

As she tried to move back into the darkness of an alley, becoming one again with the shadows, she heard footsteps. Footsteps, of course, were not uncommon in a city such as London. However, these specific footsteps belonged to about half a dozen men and were circling around her – she was being surrounded.

Her first instinct was to throw knives at those who threatened her, but something stopped her. There was something on the wind, a scent that was pleasant… _familiar._

"Finch…," her voice echoed in the alley, "you really need to lay off that aftershave if you want to sneak up on people."

A figure moved closer until it was illuminated by a street lamp. Seeing the man's face, Evey could tell it was indeed Eric Finch.

She turned to see what was moving behind her, only to see another familiar face. She took off her mask, making eye contact. There was no use for it anyway – they knew exactly who she was.

"Ah, officer Stone, Evey greeted Dominic, "you have changed since last I've seen you. Dare I say that maturity becomes you?"

She was aware of the patronizing tone of her voice; a byproduct of being unpleasantly surprised by two men she thought could be trusted.

In the dark, she could discern four more policemen who were observing her every move. She could see they feared her, yet they remained in position diligently. Evey moved back to look at Finch.

"You realize I could kill you all where you stand and still be home for supper?" she hissed.

"I know," Fich said, "but I was hoping you'd come willingly. There are some matters that need to be cleared up."

Evey sighed. For a brief moment she contemplated slitting their throats. It would be so much _easier._ Not nice, of course, but it would be a lot less hassle. But she pushed the murderous thoughts from her mind and lifted up her arms in surrender.

"Well, take me to your leader then," she said, her voice laden with sarcasm.

– – –

Hours later, Evey Hammond was sitting in the unpleasant flickering neon light of a police interrogation room.

Finally, Dominic walked in.

Evey looked straight at him.

"Have you come to charge me with something?"

"Yes….No. I'm sorry, it's complicated, Miss" the young man managed.

"What's complicated? Either you charge me or you do not."

"Well, "Dominic started, "you little performance on television is legally _problematic_ , but inspector Finch is working on that."

"He's working on it? Could he not work on it while I am not sitting in an interrogation cell?"

It was at this point that Eric Finch himself walked in and answered the question himself.

"Of course I could have. But, you see, an interrogation cell is actually one of the safest places in this city."

"I do not need protection," Evey remarked, still containing her anger, "Certainly not protection by a few policemen who fear my very presence."

"The men who were with me tonight were _good_ men, Evey. Honourable men. Despite your doubts, I trust them with my life. And so does your guest."

"My _guest?"_

"Yes," Finched sighed, "and may I please request you to keep the hostility at bay."

The door squeaked once more. A feminine figure in a blue cloak entered. The figure's face was invisible, but Evey could tell by her gait that she was quite young. Her voice confirmed Evey's suspicions.

"Is it safe?" the girl in the cloak asked hesitantly.

"As safe as it will ever be", Finch replied.

When the figure revealed her face, Evey's mouth actually dropped. What she could see was a blonde woman of about her own age, who was looking at her intently. The thing that really amazed Evey though, was that she _knew_ this face. She knew it very, very well. She had seen it maybe a hundred times on television. It unleashed a sense of patriotism in her that she did not know she had.

"Your Highness?" Evey stammered, feeling stupid for not getting up and curtseying… or something.

The young lady nodded.

Evey's guest was indeed none other than Queen Zara, officially still monarch of Great-Britain. When Norsefire had put her on the throne when she was only 12, the people quietly started calling her _The Puppet Queen._ Yet despite the silent mockery, no-one really hated her. Most people actually pitied her. She had been a young girl who was used in a political game that she herself had no control over. Many even still saw her as a symbol of England: a remnant of a more glorious age, linked by blood to the rulers of better times.

In any case, the woman in front of Evey looked nothing like the 12-year old who clumsily rose to the throne and could barely carry the weight of her crown on her head. She looked stronger now, independent and determined.

"I will make this brief, Miss Hammond," the young monarch spoke, "I have seen your little television performance. Charges have been made, but we shall simply say you have been fined for the matter and wrap it up elegantly."

"Why?" Evey asked.

"While I question your _methods,_ Miss Hammond, I am no fool. You have assessed the danger correctly. Last night, a threat has been made to my life. I'm purposefully keeping it out of the news. Last thing we need is that the people get influenced by fear. That only gives our enemies more power."

The Queen toyed with the button of her cloak, showing the briefest of emotion before regaining her composure.

"I have seen these fanatics make my parents disapprear," she continued, "I kept my silence, because I wanted to live. So I allowed them to use me for their purposes. For this, I shall be eternally ashamed. Even my age was no excuse. However, regret does not change the past, but we can influence the future. I have let them take over this country _once._ I do not intend to let it happen _again_."

"Well we are in agreement there, Your Highness, but I fail to see what you want from me?"

"You're a symbol, Miss Hammond, you could lead people if you set your mind to it. With you running for office, Norsefire would not even stand a chance."

Evey could not believe her ears.

"I'm not a politician."

"No-one really is until they become one. And the good ones hate the job."

The Queen took a deep breath.

"I must go now. This conversation is completely off the record, off course. You do not have to make your decision now. But I implore you to consider it."

With that, she hid her face with the cloak again and slipped out.

"Well, that was unexpected," Evey said to Finch, "when I asked to take me to your leader I did not think you'd take it literally."

"Evey….just think about it?" Finch asked.

"I will," she said.

Finch was moving to the door to leave, but Evey stopped him.

"While I'm here anyway…I'll need a phone call. And a favour."

Eric Finch sighed, his posture radiating dread for the request that was about to come.

But Evey knew him too well.

He would not refuse her.


	36. The Harshness of Light

Chapter 36 – The Harshness of Light  


The harshness of the flickering neon light made Gordon Deitrich even more uncomfortable than he already was. He, like most mortals, tended to feel unease when thinking about death. Evey must have noticed his discomfort, as she gently touched his arm.

"You don't have to do this, you know," she said, her voice echoing in the cold room.

"I know," he replied, "but I want to." His voice almost failed, but he managed to force the words out.

Eric Finch nodded in their direction, then faced the wall. There were twelve compartments in it, each large enough to house the remains of what had once been a human being. Finch pulled at one such compartment, swiftly yet respectfully, revealing the bodily remains of Rose Atkins. The old woman's body looked small and vulnerable in the unforgiving light. The violence that had been done to her –a myriad of bruises and several stab wounds – sent shivers down Gordon's spine. How could anyone do this to an old lady, he wondered.

He looked up, studying the expressions of the people around him – Evey, Finch, Dominic. He was looking for some reaction, but found only stone cold faces.

And then there was his brother's face – a face that had been hidden from the outside world for so many years. Gordon wondered if there was emotion under that mask, or if he too had reached the point where he had grown… _accustomed_ to seeing corpses.

He finally chose to break the silence. "Yes, this is her. This is the Rose I knew from the Underground."

Finch nodded.

"I'm sorry for you loss", he said monotonously, almost rehearsed.

"You're lucky we're undermanned," he then added. "The pathologist was still working on his report. Exhuming her would not have been so easy."

"And what did your pathologist find?" V asked in a deep voice.

Finch took a glance at the report that had been given to him. "She was stabbed many times, but only once strike was fatal."

He pointed towards the wound located slightly under the heart. "This one here killed her," he said. "Her assailant kept stabbing her even after she was already dead. Looks like someone with one hell of a temper."

"Or an assailant who was trying to cover something up," V stated.

Finch looked at him questioningly.

"It was the first stab that killed her, was it not?" V inquired.

"Yes, most likely it was. How do you know?"

"She died from being stabbed in the heart. But as you may know, Mr. Finch, it is not actually _easy_ to stab someone right in the heart. One has to know the exact position, and then it's still difficult as the ribs are placed in such a manner that they protect the heart from trauma. You're actually better off trying to reach the heart from the back, or as was done here – you stab below the ribs, but thrust in an upward angle. I find it very hard to believe it was a lucky strike – _especially_ if it was the first.

"Are you suggesting she was murdered by some sort of contract killer?" Finch asked, his face looking even more pale than before in the unflattering neon shine.

"What I'm suggesting," replied V, "is that she was killed by someone with great knowledge about how to dispose of a human being. That same someone also went to great lengths to hide the fact that he has such knowledge. Hence those sloppy post-mortem wounds."

V's gloved had touched the dead woman's cheek almost lovingly. "I cannot tell you who killed her, Inspector, but I can tell you it was no random act of violence. This was deliberate, calculated and very well executed."

\- - -

"Deliberate, calculated, and very well executed". Those words still rang in Gordon Deitrich's head as he walked home from the morgue half an hour later. He had wanted to see the body, to make sure if she was not by any chance another Rose, there must be many after all. But sadly, it was his friend indeed, and he could only add her to the long list of friends he had already lost.

After his mind settled a bit, he just focused on the sound of himself walking. Often, he was still surprised that the irregular gait, accompanied by the sound of a cane, was actually his. Yet the monotonous rhythm of his pace was not the only thing to be heard on the nightly streets of London. There were other footsteps there, too – trying to mask their presence – but unmistakably those of a woman with heels. Closer they came, until Gordon started to be suspicious. The tingly feeling in the back of his neck was confirmed when he heard a sound he did not care much to hear – the sound of the safety on a handgun being turned off.

Gordon faced to where the sound came from, fearful to gaze upon his attacker. But the face that became illuminated by the street lights was not quite what he had expected. It was a woman in her fourties, who looked at him with sadness rather than hate.

"Stop right there," she demanded, her voice close to sobbing.

Gordon stopped and lifted his hands up in surrender. His cane fell on the pavement with considerable racket.

"I couldn't run if I wanted to," he spoke, "but I'd be a lot more comfortable if you put that gun down."

"You people just go about your business, not caring who gets hurt," she spoke as if she had not heard him.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but I do not know what this is about…"

"No, you _wouldn't_ know, now would you?" she hissed. "Mister Oscar Wilde _(16)_ …isn't that what they used to call you back in the days that you played cops and robbers with the government? Oh, yes, you even had code names – like a jolly little group of superheroes or something. But I'll tell you what it was…it was _stupid_ , that's what it was. It's all fun and games until someone gets murdered…"

"You know about the Vanguard House," Gordon stated with genuine surprise.

" _Know_ about it?" the woman exclaimed as she burst into tears. "I _lived_ it. I _breathed_ it. For years, every time my mother left to that place, I was afraid if would be the last time I'd see her. And for so many years, even after it ended, I was so scared they'd come for us still. And just now…" she sobbed, "just now that I finally thought it was safe, they got to her anyway. And I get to tell my boys that grandma will not be spending Christmas with us because she's lying on a slab in a bloody mortuary!"

Her sobs were causing her muscles to contract and she was already losing grip on her weapon, lowering its barrel towards the ground.

Gordon stepped closer, tentatively, but she made no indication that she still had murder on her mind.

He touched her arm, coaxing her to lower the gun further. She did and he took her into his arms, allowing her to cry.

Gently, he stroked he curly blonde hair. "Of course," he whispered. "Goldie Locks. Rose's little girl. I remember you."

After a few minutes, he could feel her body tensing again, anguish returning to anger.

"You find out who did this," she hissed. "Find out, or next time, I _will_ pull that trigger."

"No threats are necessary, Milady, I wish to find out who did this to your mother as much as you do."

She pulled away, her face wrecked with emotion. The dimmed street light made her tearful eyes look almost scary; she looked like the protagonist in a horror movie.

"Just make sure it gets done," she spoke as she disappeared back into the shadows.

"I promise," Gordon whispered, unsure if his words were still heard.

 

_(16) Yes, this is of course a reference to one of Stephen Fry's other roles._


	37. Field Trip

Chapter 37 – Field Trip

The sun was setting. What had been drizzle earlier on that day, was now transforming itself into little snowflakes. Evey Hammond shivered ever-so-slightly in the cold evening air and drew her cloak closer around herself. The tiny fluffy clouds of ice adorned her hair and her clothes only for a short while, before her body heat made them melt, turning them into icy moisture that crept into every garment, making her feel as if she was being chilled to the bone. She wasn't quite sure, but she thought she saw the masked man beside her shiver, too.

They had gone as far as the subway network would take them, but most tunnels outside of London's centre were still out of commission. While the provisional government tried to repair them to let the working population benefit from a public transport network again, years of dereliction had taken its toll. Some of the tunnels had become structurally unsound, and repairs were expensive.

This meant that they would be continuing the second half of their journey by car.

In the dusk, on an abandoned street, a banged-up Mini stood waiting for them. Behind the wheel, Gordon Dietrich was sitting patiently.

V and Evey made themselves comfortable on the back seat. Thinking about it, it struck Evey as slightly ridiculous to put a man of V's reputation in such a small car. Glancing beside her, she looked at the picnic basket that V held on his lap. It only added to her feeling of it all being surreal, as it often happened when she was around V.

This masked avenger, executioner of many, had spent the morning in one of his floral aprons, preparing lunch - or rather dinner - for the three of them. He had made egg sandwiches, added a thermos with tea, and even packed some biscuits to go with it.

Still, after so much time, Evey sometimes couldn't grasp the blatant paradoxes in the man's behaviour – nor could she grasp why exactly she found them appealing.

The smell of the food in the confined space, along with the humming of the engine and the rocking motion of the car brought her back to her childhood. Only in the memory it was morning, not evening and summer, not winter.

V must have noticed her eyes glazing over and her mind going absent.

"A penny for your thoughts," his voice sounded pleasantly.

"I was thinking, this is like a reverse picnic," Evey replied, pointing at the basket. "When I was little, we used to leave at the crack of dawn for these trips, so we could make most of the day."

"I fear that daylight has not been my friend for a long time, dear Evey," V said softly, "but I'll try to make the most of the night."

Evey smiled. The car's heating system had kicked in and she felt much more comfortable now. Her gloved fingers reached out for V's and she was thankful he didn't pull away. She squeezed his hand and let her cheek rest on his shoulder.

Gordon caught a few glimpses of them in the rear view mirror. He spoke, possibly just to deal with his own discomfort at witnessing an intimate moment.

He scraped his throat: "So, are you kids sure that it's wise to leave the good Inspector behind?"

Evey could feel V's muscles flexing as he heard Gordon call them "kids". It almost made her grin.

"No," she heard V reply to the question, "but I wish to see the place alone first."

Evey understood. Even the best of people were creatures of habit. V had spent so many years independent of others. She could see how incredibly _hard_ it must have been for him to let his guard down in the first place; to let others meddle with things that he still considered to be inherently private. She understood how, in a way, she and Gordon were terribly lucky to get even a little personal information about him. Lucky, that is, if they did not mind being in harm's way – for it seemed danger was only ever two steps behind the masked man.

Evey was grateful for even the smallest breaches in that almost impenetrable defense system of his, and she knew full well why Inspector Finch was not quite that high on V's list of favourite people.

It was not that V did not trust the man, or even question his character, but not long ago he had believed him to be a rival to Evey's love, and she suspected that might still affect V's dealings with the him.

More so – regardless of V's feeling about the Inspector – Evey knew that if this little field trip did turn up information about V's past, sharing it with the entire police force was probably the _last_ thing V would want to do.

She remained silent for the longest time, happy to simply hold V's hand while looking out of the window. The further away they got from London centre, the thicker the snow became, until they reached a spot where it was already covering the ground like a white fluffy carpet. Gordon was having trouble seeing much ahead; there was only darkness, intermittent with faint streetlights, and the incessant attack of small white assailants on the windshield.

Despite the limited vision, Evey could see a gigantic structure loom up in the night. It took a moment for her to realise what it was, but when she did, she wondered how she ever could have missed it. It was Heathrow Airport, dutifully waiting for the time that London might once again be more international again. It had stood abandoned for years – part of the plot to cut England off from the rest of the world – but now air traffic was slowly being resumed. Many airplanes were beyond repair though, and the Norsefire regime had not exactly done wonders for England's reputation. America still had many problems of its own. As a result, the only people who really ventured into the skies were those who were eager to do business or the rare journalist who was writing about how England had fared in its isolation.

Nobody was willing to fly in this weather though, so tonight the airport was just as empty as Evey remembered it to be from her youth.

Soon, they traversed the M25, making clear that they were indeed making their way out of London. Gordon's car stopped not very long after, in what Evey would have described as 'the middle of nowhere'.

Gordon pulled up the hand break and switched off the engine, signaling that they had indeed arrived at their destination.

Evey got out of the car, greeted by a cold that was much sharper than the one she remembered from earlier that day. She peered into the darkness, trying to see what was so special about the place.

"There's nothing here," she said to Gordon, a slight frown appearing on her forehead.

She tried to adjust her eyes to the night – something she had gotten quite good at in the past few months. But all she could see was a sea of white; snow covering what appeared to be a frozen lake, with dark patches where the water had not turned into ice yet.

"From here we walk," Gordon said, guiding her away from the lake, and into what she would think to be a plain of nothingness.

Her feet pressed against the fresh snow and it made a sound that she associated with childhood and happiness. V hovered behind her as a silent protector, but still a strange, unconformable feeling crept up on her. It was like this was some sort of initiation rite; like she was a novice being led to an inner sanctum that she could not grasp the magnitude of.

The place where they were going to – if there would indeed be such a place at the end of their walk – was a part of Gordon's and V's shared past, not hers. Granted, apparently her parents were involved in some way, but she was just a little girl back then, and the inner workings of what they called The Vanguard House had never been revealed to her.

The structure that eventually appeared before them was not what she had expected. It was not residential in nature, rather industrial. A hangar stood, surrounded by several habitable containers, next to what would appear to be a gravel pit or a quarry of some sort. Some large excavation machines stood motionlessly in the snow, showing patches of rust and signs of neglect. A bit further, five Lorries were parked nearly next to each other, as they had been for many years, waiting for a cargo that had never arrived.

The landscape seemed infested by ghosts to her – perhaps not ghosts of people, but ghosts of dreams never come into fruition, of imagination nipped in the bud, of a thousand different futures that could have been, but never were.

"You wait here," Gordon said to both her and V. "It's been a long time. Let me see if I can still get in safely."

He disappeared in the darkness, leaving the two black-clad figures standing in the snow. Evey moved closer to V, and he –as in reading her mind as to what she wanted – put his arms around her, sheltering her from the elements.

"Thank you for letting me come along," she whispered.

"You would not have let me go easily," he replied.

Evey didn't know if that was a compliment in disguise, or a resignation on V's part to accept that his believed death had changed her.

"Perhaps I would not have," she said, "but it means a lot that you asked me willingly."

V bowed his head down, the chin if his mask resting on her forehead. She swore she could actually feel the warmth of his breath on her hair.

"Promise me one thing, though," he managed.

"Anything."

"Whatever we find in there, whoever I used to be – Evey, do not mistake him for the man I am now. I do not remember him. I do not even remember this place."

She nodded. "I won't. I promise."

Some racket sounded behind the hangar, sounding as if something had fallen down. Evey startled, hand already on her dagger, and peered into the direction of the noise.

Fortunately, the next thing that she heard was Gordon's voice.

"It appears I have acquired a key!" he shouted.

Evey breathed a sigh of relief. No fight would ensue. Yet in the back of her mind a little voice was still saying: _It' can't possibly be this easy._

 


End file.
